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» 



THE TEXAN 

A Story of the Cattle Country 

\ 

By JAMES B. HENDRYX 


Author of 

“The Gun Brand,” “The PromiseEtc. 



A. L. BURT COMPANY 
Publishers New York 


Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam’s Sons 


Made in the United State# of America 

r 3 












Copyright, 1918 

BY 

JAMES B. HENDRYX 


Fourth Printing 


By James B. Hendryx 

The Promise Connie Morgan in Alaska 

The Gun Brand Connie Morgan with the Mounted 

The Texan Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps 

The Gold Girl Wild Geese 


This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London 



CONTENTS 


chapter page 

A Prologue ..... i 

I.—The Train Stops .... 27 

II.—Wolf River 35 

III. —Purdy.52 

IV. —Cinnabar Joe . . . .67 

V.—On the Flat ..... 83 

VI.—The Rim of the Bench . . .102 

VII.—The Arrest.123 

VIII.—One Way Out .... 142 

IX.—The Pilgrim . . . . .158 

X.—The Flight . . . . . 177 

XI.— A Rescue . . . . .192 

XII.—Tex Does Some Scouting . .216 

XIII. —A Bottle of “Hooch” . . . 240 

XIV. —On Antelope Butte . . . 262 

XV.—The Texan Hears Some News . 282 

XVI.—Back in Camp .... 305 

XVII.— In the Bad Lands .... 324 

XVIII.—“Win”.348 

XIX.—The End of the Trail . . . 365 


in 





THE TEXAN 


A PROLOGUE 

Exactly twenty minutes after young Benton 
dismounted from his big rangy black before the 
door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one 
of the narrow crooked streets of old Las Vegas, 
he glanced into the eyes of the thin-lipped croupier 
and laughed. “You’ve got ’em. Seventy-four 
good old Texas dollars.” He held up a coin 
between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve got 
another one left, an’ your boss is goin’ to get 
that, too—but he’s goin’ to get it in legitimate 
barter an’ trade.” 

As the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that 
occupied one side of the room, a group of Mexicans 
who had lounged back at his entrance crowded 
once more about the wheel and began noisily 
to place their bets. He watched them for a 
moment before turning his attention to the heavy- 

i 



2 


The Texan 


lidded, flabby-jowled person who leaned ponder¬ 
ously against the sober side of the bar. 

“Who owns this joint?” he asked truculently, 
as he eyed with disfavour the filthy shirt-sleeves 
rolled back from thick forearms, the sagging vest, 
and the collarless shirt-band that buried itself in 
a fold of the fat neck. 

“I do,” was the surly rejoinder. “Got any 
kick cornin’ ? ” 

“Nary kick.” The cowpuncher tossed his 
dollar onto the bar. ‘ ‘ Give me a little red licker, 
he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor 
as he filled his glass to the brim. 

“An outfit,” he confided, with slow insolence, 
“that’ll run an eagle-bird wheel ain’t got no more 
conscience than a hombre's got brains that’ll buck 
one. In Texas we’d shoot a man full of little holes 
that ’ud try it.” 

“Why’n you stay in Texas, then?” growled 
the other. 

The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the 
glass. “Most fat men,” he imparted irrelevantly, 
“are plumb mindful that they’re easy hit, an’ 
consequent they’re cheerful-hearted an’ friendly. 
Likewise, they mind their own business, which is 
also why they’ve be’n let grow to onhuman pro- 


A Prologue 


o 


portions. But, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, 
an’ by way of gettin’ acquainted, I’ll leak it out 
that it ain’t no fault of Texas that I come away 
from there—but owin’ only to a honin’ of mine 
to see more of the world than what Texas 
affords. 

“The way to see a world,” I debates, “is like 
anythin’ else—begin at the bottom an’ work up. 
So I selects seventy-five dollars an’ hits fer Las 
Vegas. ” 

The fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced 
it with a greasy fifty-cent piece, an operation 
which the Texan watched with interest as he 
swallowed his liquor. 

“They ain’t nothin’ like eagle-bird wheels an’ 
snake-liniment at two bits a throw to help a man 
start at the bottom,” he opined, and reaching for 
the half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking in¬ 
dividual who lounged near the door. “Here, 
Greaser, lend a hand in helpin’ me downward! 
Here’s four bits. Go lay it on the wheel—an’ 
say: I got a hunch! I played every number on 
that wheel except the thirteen—judgin’ it to be 
onlucky.” The forlorn one grinned his under¬ 
standing, and clutching the piece of silver, elbowed 
into the group that crowded the roulette wheel. 


4 


The Texan 


The cowpuncher turned once more to the surly 
proprietor: 

“So now you see me, broke an’ among evil 
companions, in this here God-forsaken, lizard- 
ridden, Greaser-lovin’, sheep-herdin’ land of sor¬ 
row. But, give me another jolt of that there 
pizen-fermentus an’ I’ll raise to heights unknown. 
A few more shots of that an’ they ain’t no tellin’ 
what form of amusement a man’s soul might 
incline to.” 

“Y’ got the price?” 

“I ain’t got even the makin’s—only an ingrowin’ 
cravin’ fer spiritual licker an’ a hankerin’ to see 
America first-” 

“That hoss,” the proprietor jerked a thumb 
toward the open door beyond which the big 
rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. ‘ ‘ Mebbe 
we might make a trade. I got one good as him 
’er better. It’s that sor’l standin’ t’other side 
of youm.” 

The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and 
leaned forward confidentially. “Fatty,” he 
drawled, “you’re a liar.” The other noted the 
hand that rested lightly upon the cowman’s hip 
near the ivory butt of the six-gun that protruded 
from its holster, and took no offence. His cus- 


A Prologue 


5 


tomer continued: “They ain’t no such horse—an* 
if they was, you couldn’t own him. They ain’t 
no man ever throw’d a kak on Ace of Spades but 
me, an’ as fer sellin’ him, or tradin’ him—I’ll 
shoot him first!” 

A sudden commotion at the back of the room 
caused both men to turn toward the wheel where 
a fierce altercation had arisen between the 
croupier and the vagabond to whom the Texan 
had tossed his last coin. 

< 1 You’ll take that er nothin’! It’s more money’n 
y’ever see before an’-” 

“Non! Non! De treize! De, w’at you call 
t’irten—she repe’t! A’m git mor’ as seex hondre 
dollaire—” The proprietor lumbered heavily 
from behind the bar and Benton noted that the 
thick fingers closed tightly about the handle of a 
bung-starter. The crowd of Mexicans thinned 
against the wall as the man with ponderous 
stealth approached to a point directly behind the 
excited vagabond who continued his protestations 
with increasing vigour. The next instant the 
Texan’s six-gun flashed from its holster and as 
he crossed the room his eye caught the swift nod 
of the croupier. 

When the proprietor drew back his arm to 



6 


The Texan 

strike, the thick wrist was seized from behind and 
he was spun violently about to glare into the 
smiling eyes of the cowpuncher—eyes in which a 
steely glint flickered behind the smile, a glint 
more ominous even than the feel of the muzzle of 
the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into 
his flabby paunch just above the waistband of 
his trousers. 

“Drop that mallet!” The words came softly, 
but with an ungentle softness that was accom¬ 
panied by a boring, twisting motion of the gun 
muzzle as it pressed deeper into his midriff. The 
bung-starter thudded upon the floor. 

“Now let’s get the straight of this,” continued 
the Texan. “Hey, you Greaser, if you c’n quit 
talkin’ long enough to say somethin’, we’ll find 
out what’s what here. You ort to look both ways 
when you’re in a dump like this or the coyotes’ll 
find out what you taste like. Come on, now— 
give me the facts in the case an’ I’ll a’joodicate it 
to suit all parties that’s my way of thinkin’.” 

“Oui! A’m play de four bit on de treize , an’ 
voila! She ween! Da’s wan gran’ honch! A’m 
play heem wan tarn’ mor’. De w’eel she spin 
’roun’, de leetle ball she sing lak de bee an’, 
Nom de Dieu! She repe’t! De t’irten ween 


A Prologue 


/ 

ag’in. A’m reech—But non!” The man pointed 
excitedly to the croupier who sneered across the 
painted board upon which a couple of gold pieces 
lay beside a little pile of silver. “A-ha, canaille! 
W’at you call—son of a dog! T’ief! She say, 
‘feefty dollaire’! Dat more as seex hondre 
dollaire-” 

“It’s a lie!” cried the croupier fiercely, “the 
thirteen don’t repeat. The sixteen win—you kin 
see fer yourself. An’ what’s more, they can’t 
no damn Injun come in here an’ calljne no——” 
11 Hold on!” The Texan shifted his glance to 
the croupier without easing the pressure on the 
gun. “If the sixteen win, what’s the fifty bucks 
for? His stake’s on the thirteen, ain’t it?” 

“What business you got, homin’ in on this? 
It hain’t your funeral. You Texas tin-horns 

comes over here an’ lose-” 

“That’ll be about all out of you. An’ if I was 
in your boots I wouldn’t go speakin’ none frivolous 
about funerals, neither.” 

The smile was gone from the steel-grey eyes 
and the croupier experienced a sudden chilling 
in the pit of his stomach. 

“Let’s get down to cases,” the cowpuncher con¬ 
tinued. “I kind of got the Greaser into this here 

* 





8 


The Texan 


jack-pot an’ it’s up to me to get him out. He 
lays four bits on the thirteen—she pays thirty- 
five—that’s seventeen-fifty. Eighteen, as she 
lays. The blame fool leaves it lay an’ she win 
again—that’s thirty-five times eighteen. Good 
Lord! An’ without no pencil an’ paper! We’ll 
cut her up in chunks an’ tackle her: let’s see, ten 
times eighteen is one-eighty, an’ three times that 
is—three times the hundred is three hundred, 
and three times the eighty is two-forty. That’s 
five-forty, an’ a half of one-eighty is ninety, an’ 
five-forty is six-thirty. We’d ort to double it fer 
interest an’ goodwill, but we’ll leave it go at the 
reg’lar price. So, just you skin off six hundred 
an’ thirty bucks, an’ eighteen more, an’ pass ’em 
acrost. An’ do it pronto or somethin’ might 
happen to Fatty right where he’s thickest.” The 
cowpuncher emphasized his remarks by boring the 
muzzle even deeper into the unctuous periphery of 
the proprietor. The croupier shot a questioning 
glance toward his employer. 

Shell it out! You fool! ” grunted that worthy. 
“’Fore this gun comes out my back. An’, be¬ 
sides, it’s cocked!” Without a word the croupier 
counted out the money, arranging it in little piles 
of gold and silver. 


A Prologue 


9 


As the vagabond swept the coins into his bat¬ 
tered Stetson the Texan gave a final twist to the 
six-gun. “If I was you, Fatty, I’d rub that there 
thirteen number off that wheel an’ paint me a 
tripple-ought or mebbe, another eagle-bird onto 
it.” 

He turned to the man who stood grinning over 
his hatful of money: 

“Come on, Pedro, me an’ you’re goin’ away 
from here. The licker this hombre purveys will 
shore lead to bloodshed an’ riotin’, besides which 
it’s onrespectable to gamble anyhow.” 

Pausing to throw the bridle reins over the horn 
of his saddle, the Texan linked his arm through 
that of his companion and proceeded down the 
street with the big black horse following like a 
dog. After several minutes of silence he stopped 
and regarded the other thoughtfully. 

“Pedro,” he said, “me an’ you, failin’ heir to 
an onexpected legacy this way, it’s fit an’ proper 
we should celebrate accordin’ to our lights. The 
common an’ onchristian way would be to splifli- 
cate around from one saloon to another ’till we’d 
took in the whole town an’ acquired a couple of 
jags an’ more or less onfavourable notoriety. 
Then, in a couple of days or two, we’d wake up 


10 


The Texan 


with fur on our tongue an inch long an’ our wealth 
divided amongst thieves. But, Pedro, such car- 
ryin’s-on is ondecent an’ improvident. Take them 
great captains of industry you read about! D’you 
reckon every pay-day old Andy Rockyfellow goes 
a rampin’ down Main Street back there in Noo 
York, proclaimin’ he’s a wolf an’ it’s his night to 
howl? Not on your tintype, he don’t! If he did 
he’d never of rose out of the rank an’ file of the 
labourin’ class, an’ chances is, would of got fired 
out of that fer not showin’ up at the corral Monday 
mornin’! Y’see I be’n a-readin’ up on the lives 
of these here saints to kind of get a line on how 
they done it. Take that whole bunch an’ they 
wasn’t hardly a railroad nor a oil mill nor a steel 
factory between ’em when they was born. I got 
all their numbers. I know jest how they done it, 
an’ when I get time I’m a-goin’ out an’ make the 
Guggenhimers cough up my share of Mexico an’ 
the Rocky Mountains an’ Alaska. 

“But to get down to cases, as the preachers says: 
Old Andy he don’t cantankerate none noticeable. 
When he feels needful of a jamboree he goes down 
to the bank an’ fills his pockets an’ a couple of 
valises with change, an’ gum-shoes down to John 
D. Swab’s, an’ they hunt up Charley Carnage an’ 


A Prologue 


ii 


a couple of senators an’ a rack of chips an’ they 
finds ’em a back room, pulls off their collars an’ 
coats an’ goes to it. They ain’t no kitty only to 
cover the needful expenses of drinks, eats, an’ 
smokes—an’ everything goes, from cold-decks to 
secon d- de alin ’. Then when they ’ve derove recrea¬ 
tion enough, on goes their collars an’ coats, an’ 
they eat a handful of cloves an’ get to work on the 
public again. They’s a lot of money changes 
hands in these here sessions but it never gets out 
of the gang, an’ after you get their brands you 
c’n generally always tell who got gouged by 
noticin’ what goes up. If coal oil hists a couple 
of cents on the gallon you know Andy carried his 
valises home empty an’ if railroad rates jumps 
—the senators got nicked a little, an’ vicy versy. 
Now you an’ me ain’t captains of industry, nor 
nothin’ else but our own soul, as the piece goes, 
but ’tain’t no harm we should try a law-abidin’ 
recreation, same as these others, an’ mebbe after 
some practice we’ll get to where the Guggenhimers 
will be figgerin’ how to get the western hemisphere 
of North America back from us. 

“It’s like this. Me an’ you’ll stop in an’ get 
us a couple of drinks. Then we’ll hunt us up a 
hash-house an’ put a big bate of ham an’ aigs out 


12 


The Texan 


of circulation, an’ go get us a couple more drinks, 
an’ heel ourselves with a deck of cards an’ a couple 
bottles of cactus juice, an’ hunt us up a place 
where we’ll be ondisturbed by the notorious 
carry in’s-on of the frivolous-minded, an’ we’ll 
have us a two-handed poker game which no matter 
who wins we can’t lose, like I was tellin’ you, 
’cause they can’t no outside parties horn in on the 
profits. But first-off we’ll hunt up a feed bam so 
Ace of Spades can load up on oats an’ hay while 
we’re havin’ our party.” 

An hour later the Texan deposited a quart 
bottle, a rack of chips, and a deck of cards on a 
little deal table in the dingy back room of a saloon. 

“I tell you, Pedro, they’s a whole lot of fancy 
trimmin’s this room ain’t got, but it’s quiet an’ 
peaceable an’ it’ll suit our purpose to a gnat’s 
hind leg.” He dropped into a chair and reached 
for the rack of chips. 

“It’s a habit of mine to set facin’ the door,” 
he continued, as he proceeded to remove the disks 
and arrange them into stacks. “So if you got 
any choist just set down acrost the table there an’ 
we’ll start the festivities. I’ll bank the game an’ 
we’ll take out a fifty-dollar stack an’ play table 
stakes.” He shoved three stacks of chips across 


A Prologue 


13 


the table. “Just come acrost with fifty bucks so’s 
we c’n keep the bank straight an’ go ahead an’ 
deal. An’ while you’re a-doin’ it, bein’ as you’re 
a pretty good Greaser, I’ll just take a drink to 


“Greasaire, non! Me, A’m hate de damn 
Greasaire! ” 

The cowpuncher paused with the bottle half 
way to his lips and scrutinized the other: “I 
thought you was a little off colour an’ talked kind 
of funny. What be you?” 

“Me, A’m Blood breed. Ma fader she French. 
Ma moder she Blood Injun. A’m leeve een 
Montan’ som’tam’—som’tam’ een Canada. A’m 
no lak dees con trie! Too mooch hot. Too 
mooch Greasaire! Too mooch sheep. A’m lak 
I go back horn’. A’m ride for T. U. las’ fall 
an’ A’m talk to round-up cook, Walt Keeng, hees 
nam’, an’ he com’ from Areezoon’. She no like 
Montan.’ She say Areezoon’ she bettaire—no 
fence—beeg range—plent’ cattle. You goin’ down 
dere an’ git job you see de good contrie. You no 
com’ back Nort’ no more. So A’m goin’ down 
w’en de col’ wedder com’ an’ A’m git de job wit’ 
01’ man Fisher on, w’at you call Yuma bench—- 
Sacre / ” The half-breed paused and wiped his face. 



14 


The Texan 


“ Didn’t you like it down Yuma way?” Benton 
smiled. 

“Lak it! Voila! No wataire! No snow! 
Too mooch, w’at you call, de leezard! Een de 
wintaire, A’m so Godamn hot A’m lak for die. 
Non! A’m com’ way from dere. A’m goin’ 
Nort’ an’ git me nodder job w’ere A’m git som’ 
wataire som’tarn’. Mebbe so git too mooch col’ 
in wintaire, but, voila! Better A’m lak I freeze 
l’il bit as bum oop!” 

The Texan laughed. “I don’t blame you none. 
I never be’n down to Yuma but they tell me it’s 
hell on wheels. Go ahead an’ deal, Pedro.” 

“Pedro, non! Ma moder she nam’ Moon Eye, 
an’ ma fader she Cross-Cut Lajune. Derefor’, 
A’m Batiste Xavier Jean Jacques de Beaumont 
Lajune.” 

The bottle thumped upon the table top. 

“What the hell is that, a name or a song?” 

“Me, das ma nam’—A’m call Batiste Xavier 
Jean-” 

“Hold on there! If your ma or pa, or which¬ 
ever one done the namin’ didn’t have no expurgated 
dictionary handy mebbe they ain’t to blame— 
but from now on, between you an’ me, you’re 
Bat. That’s name enough, an’ the John Jack 



A Prologue 


i5 


Judas Iscariot an’ General Jackson part goes in 
the discards. An’ bein’ as this here is only a 
two-handed game, the discards is dead-See?” 

At the end of an hour the half-breed watched 
with a grin as the Texan raked in a huge pile of 
chips. 

“Dat de las’,” he said, “Me, A’m broke.” 

“Broke!” exclaimed the cowpuncher, “you 
don’t mean you’ve done lost all that there six 
hundred an’ forty-eight bucks? He counted the 
little piles of silver and gold, which the half- 
breed had shoved across the board in return for 
stack after stack of chips. 

‘ * Six-forty-two, ’ ’ he totalled. ‘ * Let’s see, supper 
was a dollar an’ four bits, drinks two dollars, an’ 
two dollars for this bottle of prune-juice that’s 
about gone already, an’—Hey, Bat, you’re four 
bits shy! Frisk yourself an’ I’ll play you a show¬ 
down for them four bits.” The other grinned and 
held a silver half dollar between his finger and 
thumb. 

11 Non! A’m ke’p dat four bit! Dat lucky 
four bit. A’m ponch hole in heem an’ car’ heem 
roun’ ma neck lak’ de medicine bag. A’m gon’ 
back Nort’—me! A’m got no frien’s. You de 
only friend A’m got. You give me de las’ four 



l6 


The Texan 


bit. You give me de honch to play de t’irteen* 
A’m git reech, an’ den you mak’ de bank, w’at 
you call, com’ ’crost. Now A’m goin’ back to 
Montan’ an’ git me de job. W’at de hell!” 

“Where’s your outfit?” asked the Texan as he 
carefully stowed the money in his pockets. 

“Ha! Ma outfeet—A’m sell dat outfeet to 
git de money to com’ back horn’. A’m play wan 
leetle gam’ coon can an’ voila! A’m got no money. 
De damn Greasaire she ween dat money an’ A’m 
broke. A’m com’ som’tam’ on de freight train 
—som’tam’ walk, an’ A’m git dees far. Tomor’ 
A’m git de freight train goin’ Nort’ an’ som’tam’ 
A’m git to Montan’. Eet ees ver’ far, but mebbe- 
so A’m git dere for fall round-up. An’ Ba Goss, 
A’m nevaire com’ sout’ no mor’. Too mooch 
hot! Too mooch no wataire! Too mooch, w’at 
you call, de pizen boog—mebbe-so in de bed—in 
de pants—in de'boot—you git bite an’ den you 
got to die! Voila! W’at de hell!” 

The Texan laughed and reaching into his pocket 
drew out two twenty dollar gold pieces and a ten 
which thudded upon the table before the aston¬ 
ished eyes of the half-breed. 

“Here, Bat, you’re a damn good Injun! You’re 
plumb squanderous with your money, but you’re 


A Prologue 


17 


a good sport. Take that an’ buy you a ticket to 
as far North as it’ll get you. Fifty bucks ort to 
buy a whole lot of car ridin’. An’ don’t you stop 
to do no gamblin’, neither— Ain’t I told you it’s 
onrespectable an’ divertin’ to morals? If you 
don’t sabe coon can no better’n what you do poker, 
you stand about as much show amongst these 
here Greasers as a rabbit in a coyote patch. It 
was a shame to take your money this way, but 
bein’ as you’re half-white it was up to me to save 
you the humiliatin’ agony of losin’ it to Greasers.” 

The half-breed pocketed the coins as the other 
buttoned his shirt and took another long pull at 
the bottle. 

“W’er’ you goin’ now?” he asked as the cow- 
puncher started for the door. The man paused 
and regarded him critically. “First off, I’m 
goin’ to get my horse. An’ then me an’ you is 
goin’ down to the depot an’ you’re a-goin’ to buy 
that there ticket. I’m a-goin’ to see that you 
get it ironclad an’ onredeemable. I ain’t got no 
confidence in no gambler an’ bein’ as I’ve took a 
sort of likin’ to you, I hate to think of you a- 
walkin’ clean to Montana in them high-heeled 
boots. After that I’m a-goin’ to start out an’ ex¬ 
amine this here town of Las Vegas lengthways, 


i8 


The Texan 


crossways, down through the middle, an’ both 
sides of the crick. An’ when that’s off my mind, 
I’m a-goin’ to begin on the rest of the world.” He 
moved his arm comprehensively and reached for 
the bottle. 

“You wait right here till I get old Ace of 
Spades,” he continued solemnly when he had 
rasped the raw liquor from his throat. “If you 
ain’t here when I come back I’ll swallow-fork your 
ears with this here gat just to see if my shootin ’ 
eye is in practice. The last time I done any 
fancy shootin’ I was kind of wild—kep’ a-hittin’ 
a little to one side an’ the other—not much, only 
about an inch or so—but it wasn’t right good 
shootin’.” 

The half-breed grinned: “A’m stay here till you 
com’ back. A’m fin’ dat you ma frien’. A’m 
lak’ you, Men /” 

When the Texan returned, fifteen minutes later, 
the man of many names was gone. “It’s just 
like I said, you can’t trust no gambler,” he mut¬ 
tered, with a doleful nod of the head. “He’s 
pulled out on me, but he better not infest the 
usual marts of midnight. ’Cause I’m a-goin’ 
to start out an’ take in everything that’s open 
in this man’s town, an’ if I find him I’ll just 


A Prologue 19 

nachelly show him the onprincipledness of lyin' 
to a friend.” 

Stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a 
moment later swung onto the big rangy black 
and clattered down the street. At the edge of 
the town he turned and started slowly back, dis¬ 
mounting wherever the lights of a saloon illumined 
the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse 
of the figure that followed in the thick blackness 
of the shadows. Before the saloon of the surly 
proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big black 
to a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that 
stood dejectedly with ears adroop and one hind 
foot resting lightly upon the toe. 

“So that’s the cayuse Fatty wanted to trade me 
for Ace of Spades!” he snorted. “That dog¬ 
legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he 
offers to trade to me fer Ace of Spades! It’s a 
doggone insult! I didn’t know it at the time, 
havin’ only a couple of drinks, an’ too sober to 
judge a insult when I seen one. But it’s different 
now, I can see it in the dark. I’m a-goin’ in 
there an’—an’ twist his nose off an’ feed it to him. 
But first I got to find old Bat. He’s an Injun, 
but he’s a good old scout, an’ I hate to think of 
him walkin’ all the way to Montana while some 


20 


The Texan 


damn Greaser is spendin’ my hard earned samo- 
lians that I give him for carfare. It’s a long walk 
to Montana. Plumb through Colorado an’ Wyo- 
min’ an’—an’ New Jersey, or somewheres. Mebbe 
he’s in there now. As they say in the Bible, or 
somewheres, you got to hunt for a thing where 
you find it, or something. Hold still, there you 
black devil you! What you want to stand there 
spinnin’ ’round like a top for? You be’n drinkin’, 
you doggone old ringtail! What was I goin’ to 
do, now. Oh, yes, twist Fatty’s nose, an’ find 
Bat an’ shoot at his ears a while, an’ make him 
get his ticket to New Jersey an’- 

“This is a blame slow old town, she needs wakin’ 
up, anyhow. If I ride in that door I’ll get scraped 
off like mud off a boot.’’ 

He spurred the black and brought him up with 
a jerk beside the sorrel which snorted and reared 
back, snapping the reins with which he had been 
tied, and stood with distended nostrils sniffing 
inquiringly at Ace of Spades as the cowpuncher 
swung to the ground. 

“Woke up, didn’t you, you old stager? Y’ain’t 
so bad lookin’ when you’re alive. Fatty’ll have 
to get him a new pair of bridle reins. Mebbe the 
whole town’ll look better if it’s woke up some. 



A Prologue 


21 


“ Y-e-e-e-e-o-w! Cowboys a-comin’!” 

A citizen or two paused on the street comer, 
a few Mexicans grinned as they drew back to 
allow the Gringo free access to the saloon, and a 
swarthy figure slipped unobserved across the street 
and blended into the shadow of the adobe wall. 

“O-o-o-o-o-h, the yaller r-o-s-e of Texas!” sang 
the cowpuncher, with joyous vehemence. As he 
stepped into the room, his eyes swept the faces 
of the gamblers and again he burst into vociferous 
song: 

* ‘ O-o-o-o-o-h, w-h-e-r-e is my wanderin’ b-o-y 
tonight?” 

“Hey, you! Whad’ye think this is, a camp 
meetin’?” 

The Texan faced the speaker. “Well, if it 
ain’t my old college chum! Fatty, I stopped in a 
purpose to see you. An’ besides which, by the 
unalien rights of the Constitution an’ By-laws of 
this here United States of Texas, a man’s got a 
right to sing whatever song suits him irregardless 
of sex or opportunity.” The other glared ma¬ 
levolently as the cowpuncher approached the bar 
with a grin. “Don’t bite yourself an’ die of 
hydrophobia before your eggication is complete, 
which it ain’t till you’ve learnt never to insult 


22 


The Texan 


no Texas man by offerin’ to trade no rat-tailed, 
ewe-necked old buzzard fodder fer a top Texas 
horse. 

“Drop that mallet! An’ don’t go reachin’ 
around in under that bar, ’cause if you find what 
you’re huntin’ fer you’re a-goin’ to see fer your¬ 
self if every cloud’s got a silver linin’. ’Tend to 
business now, an’ set out a bottle of your famous 
ol’ Las Vegas stummick shellac an’ while I’m 
imbibin’ of its umbilical ambrosier, I’ll jest 
onscrew your nose an’ feed it to the cat.” 

Sweat stood out upon the forehead of the heavy - 
paunched proprietor as with a flabby-faced grin 
he set out the bottle. But the Texan caught the 
snake-like flash of the eyes with which the man 
signalled to the croupier across the room. Gun 
in hand, he whirled: 

“No, you don’t, Toney!” An ugly blue-black 
automatic dropped to the floor and the croupier’s 
hands flew ceilingward. 

“I never seen such an outfit to be always a- 
reachin’,” grinned the cowpuncher. “Well, if 
there ain’t the ol’ eagle-bird wheel! Give her a 
spin, Toney! They say you can’t hit an eagle 
on the fly with a six-gun, but I’m willin’ to try! 
Spin her good, ’cause I don’t want no onfair 


A Prologue 


23 


advantage of that there noble bird. Stand back, 
Greasers, so you don’t get nicked!” 

As the croupier spun the wheel, three shots 
rang in an almost continuous explosion and the 
gamblers fell over each other in an effort to dodge 
the flying splinters that filled the powder-fogged air. 

“Little black bull slid down the mountain, 

L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago!” roared the Texan as he 
threw open the cylinder of his gun. 

“H-e-e-e-e scraped his horn on a hickory saplin’, 

L-o-n-g t-i-m-e ago-” 

There was a sudden commotion behind him, a 
swift rush of feet, a muffled thud, and a gasping, 
agonized grunt. The next instant the huge acete- 
lyne lamp that lighted the room fell to the floor 
with a crash and the place was plunged in darkness. 

“Queek, m’s’u, dees way!” a hand grasped his 
wrist and the cowpuncher felt himself drawn 
swiftly toward the door. From all sides sounded 
the scuffling of straining men who breathed 
heavily as they fought in the blackness. 

A thin red flame cut the air and a shot rang 
sharp. Someone screamed and a string of Span¬ 
ish curses blended into the hubbub of turmoil. 

“De hosses, queek, m’s’u!” 

The cool air of the street fanned the Texan’s 



24 


The Texan 


face as he leaped across the sidewalk, and vaulted 
into the saddle. The next moment the big black 
was pounding the roadway neck and neck with 
another, smaller horse upon which the half-breed 
swayed in the saddle with the ease and grace of 
the loose-rein rider born. 

It was broad daylight when the cowpuncher 
opened his eyes in an arroyo deep among the hills 
far, far from Las Vegas. He rubbed his forehead 
tenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet dis¬ 
tant, buried his face in the tiny pool and drank 
deeply of the refreshing liquid. Very deliberately 
he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and 
fumbled in his pockets for papers and tobacco. 
As he blew the grey smoke from his nostrils he 
watched the half-breed who sat nearby industri¬ 
ously splicing a pair of broken bridle reins. 

“Did you get that ticket, Bat?” he asked, with 
a hand pressed tightly against his aching forehead. 

The other grinned. “Me, A’m no wan’ no 
ticket. A’m lak A’m stay wit’ you, an’ mebbe-so 
we git de job togedder.” 

The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence. 

“What was the rookus last night?” he asked, 
indifferently. Then, suddenly, his eye fell upon 
the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a lariat 


A Prologue 


25 


rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to 
his feet. “Where’d you get that horse?” he 
exclaimed sharply. “It’s Fatty’s! There’s the 
reins he busted when he snorted loose!” 

Again the half-breed grinned. “A’m bor’ dat 
hoss for com’ ’long wit’ you. Dat Fatty, she 
damn bad man. She try for keel you w’en you 
tak’ de shot at de wheel. A’m com’ ’ long dat time 
an’ A’m keek heem in de guts an’ he roll ’roun’ 
on de floor, an’ A’m t’row de bottle of wheesky 
an’ smash de beeg lamp an’ we com’ ’long out of 
dere.” The cowpuncher tossed his cigarette 
away and spat upon the ground. 

“How’d you happen to come in there so handy 
just at the right time?” he asked with a sidewise 
glance at the half-breed. 

“Oh, A’m fol’ you long tarn’. A’m t’ink 
mebbe-so you git l’il too mooch hooch an’ som’one 
try for do you oop. A’m p’ek in de door an’ 
seen Fatty gon’ shoot you. Dat mak’ me mad 
lak hell, an’ A’m run oop an’ keek heem so hard 
I kin on hees belly. You ma frien’. A’m no lak 
I seen you git keel.” 

The Texan nodded. “I see. You’re a damn 
good Injun, Bat, an’ I ain’t got no kick comm’ 
onto the way you took charge of proceeding. 


:6 


The Texan 


But you sure raised hell when you stole that horse. 
They’s prob’ly about thirty-seven men an’ a 
sheriff a-combin’ these here hills fer us at this 
partic’lar minute an’ when they catch us-” 

The half-breed laughed. “Dem no ketch. 
We com’ feefty mile. Dat leetle hoss she damn 
good hoss. We got de two bes’ hoss. We ke’p 
goin’ dey no ketch. ’Spose dey do ketch. Me, 
A’m tell ’em A’m steal dat hoss an’ you not know 
nuthin’ ’bout dat.” 

There was a twinkle in the Texan’s eye as he 
yawned and stretched prodigiously. “An’ I’ll 
tell ’em you’re the damnedest liar in the state of 
Texas an’ North America throw’d in. Come on, 
now, you throw the shells on them horses an’ 
we’ll be scratchin’ gravel. Fifty miles ain’t no 
hell of a ways—my throat’s beginnin’ to feel kind 
of draw’d already.” 

“W’er’ we goin’?” asked the half-breed as they 
swaing into the saddles. 

“Bat,” said the other, solemnly, “me an’ you 
is goin’ fast, an’ we’re goin’ a long time. You 
mentioned somethin’ about Montana bein’ con¬ 
siderable of a cow country. Well, me an’ you is 
a-goin’ North—as far North as cattle is—an’ we’re 
right now on our way!” 



CHAPTER I 


THE TRAIN STOPS 

“I don’t see why they had to build their old 
railroad down in the bottom of this river bed.” 
With deft fingers Alice Marcum caught back a 
wind-tossed whisp of hair. “It’s like travelling 
through a trough.” 

“Line of the least resistance,” answered her 
companion as he rested an arm upon the polished 
brass guard rail of the observation car. “This 
river bed, running east and west, saved them 
millions in bridges.” 

The girl’s eyes sought the sky-line of the bench 
that rose on both sides of the mile-wide valley 
through which the track of the great transcon¬ 
tinental railroad wound like a yellow serpent. 

“It’s level up there. Why couldn’t they have 
built it along the edge?” 

The man smiled: “And bridged all those 
ravines!” he pointed to gaps and notches in the 
27 


28 


The Texan 


level sky-line where the mouths of creek beds and 
coulees flashed glimpses of far mountains. “Each 
one of those ravines would have meant a trestle 
and trestles run into big money.” 

“And so they built the railroad down here in 
this ditch where people have to sit and swelter 
and look at their old shiny rails and scraggly 
green bushes and dirt walls, while up there only 
a half a mile away the great rolling plains stretch 
away to the mountains that seem so near you 
could walk to them in an hour.” 

“But, my dear girl, it would not be practical. 
Railroads are built primarily with an eye to divi¬ 
dends and—” The girl interrupted him with a 
gesture of impatience. 

“I hate things that are practical—hate even 
the word. There is nothing in all the world so 
deadly as practicability. It is ruthless and ugly. 
It disregards art and beauty and all the higher 
things that make life worth living. It is a monster 
whose god is dollars—and who serves that god 
well. What does any tourist know of the real 
West—the West that lies beyond those level 
rims of dirt? How much do you or I know of 
.it? The West to us is a thin row of scrub bushes 
along a narrow, shallow river, with a few little 


The Train Stops 


29 


white-painted towns sprinkled along, that for all 
we can see might be in Illinois or Ohio. I’ve 
been away a whole winter and for all the West 
I’ve seen I might as well have stayed in Brooklyn.” 

“But certainly you enjoyed California!” 

“California! Yes, as California. But Cali¬ 
fornia isn’t the West! California is New York 
with a few orange groves thrown in. It is a 
tourist’s paradise. A combination of New York 
and Palm Beach. The real West lies east of the 
Rockies, the uncommercialized, unexploited—I 
suppose you would add, the unpractical West. 
A New Yorker gets as good an idea of the West 
when he travels by train to California as a Cali¬ 
fornian would get of New York were he to arrive 
by way of the tube and spend the winter in the 
Fritz-Waldmore. ” 

“I rather liked California, what little I saw of 
it. A business trip does not afford an ideal op¬ 
portunity for sight seeing.” 

“You like Newport and Palm Beach, too.” 

The man ignored the interruption. 

“But, at least, this trip has combined a good 
bit of business with a very big bit of pleasure. 
It is two years since I have seen you and-” 

“And so you’re going to tell me for the twenty- 



30 


The Texan 


sixth time in three days that you still love me, 
and that you want me to marry you, and I’ll have 
to say ‘no’ again, and explain that I’m not ready 
to marry anybody.” She regarded him with an 
air of mock solemnity. “But really Mr. Winthrop 
Adams Endicott I think you have improved since 
you struck out for yourself into the wilds of— 
where was it, Ohio, or some place.” 

“Cincinnati,” answered the man a trifle stiffly. 

The girl shuddered. “I had to change cars 
there once.” Again she eyed him critically. 
“Yes, two years have made a really noticeable 
improvement. Do the Cincinnati newspapers 
always remember to use your whole name or do 
they dare to refer to Winthrop A. Endicott. If 
I were a reporter I really believe I’d try it once. 
If you keep on improving, some day somebody 
is going to call you Win.” 

The man flushed: “Are you never serious?” 
he asked. 

“Never more so than this minute.” 

“You say you are not ready to marry. You 
expect to marry, then, sometime?” 

“I don’t expect to. I’m going to.” 

“Will you marry me when you are ready?” 

The girl laughed. “Yes, if I can’t find the 


The Train Stops 


3 i 


man I want, I think I shall. But he must be 
somewhere,” she continued, after a pause during 
which her eyes centred upon the point where the 
two gleaming rails vanished into the distance. 
“He must be impractical, and human, and—and 
elemental. I’d rather be smashed to pieces in 
the Grand Canyon, than live for ever on the Erie 
Canal!” 

“Aren’t you rather unconventional in your 
tastes-?” 

“If I’m not, I’m a total failure! I hate conven¬ 
tionality ! And lines of least resistance! And 
practical things! It is the men who are the real 
sticklers for convention. The same kind of men 
that follow the lines of least resistance and build 
their railroads along them—because it is practical! 

“I don’t see why you want to marry me!” she 
burst out resentfully. “I’m not conventional, 
nor practical. And I’m not a line of least resist¬ 
ance!” 

“But I love you. I have always loved you, 
and-” 

The girl interrupted him with a quick little 
laugh, which held no trace of resentment. “Yes, 
yes, I know. I believe you do. And I’m glad 
because really, Winthrop, you’re a dear. There 




The Texan 


32 

are lots of things about you I admire. Your 
teeth, and eyes, and the way you wear your clothes. 
If you weren’t so terribly conventional, so cut 
and dried, and matter of fact, and safe , I might 
fall really and truly in love with you. But—Oh, 
I don’t know! Here I am, twenty-three. And 
I suppose I’m a little fool and have never grown 
up. I like to read stories about knights errant, 
and burglars, and fair ladies, and pirates, and 
mysterious dark oriental-looking men. And I 
like to go to places where everybody don’t go— 
only Dad won’t let me and—Why just think!” 
she exclaimed in sudden wrath, “I’ve been in 
California for three months and I’ve ridden over 
the same trails everybody else has ridden over, 
and motored over the same roads and climbed the 
same mountains, and bathed at the same beach, 
and I’ve met everybody I ever knew in New York, 
just as I would have met them in Newport or 
Palm Beach or in Paris or Venice or Naples for 
that matter!” 

“But why go off the beaten track where every¬ 
thing is arranged for your convenience? These 
people are experienced travellers. They know 
that by keeping to the conventional routes-” 

“Winthrop Adams Endicott, if you say that 



The Train Stops 


33 


word again I’ll shriek! Or I’ll go in from this 
platform and not speak to you again—ever! You 
know very well that there isn’t a traveller among 
them. They’re just tourists—professional goers. 
They do the same things, and say the same things, 
and if they could think, they’d think the same 
things every place they go. And I don’t want 
things arranged for my convenience—so there!” 

Winthrop Adams Endicott lighted a cigarette, 
brushed some white dust from his sleeve, and 
smiled. 

“ If I were a man and loved a girl so very, very 
much I wouldn’t just sit around and grin. I’d 
do something!” 

“But, my dear Alice, what would you have me 
do? I’m not a knight errant, nor a burglar, nor 
a pirate, nor a dark mysterious oriental—I’m 
just a plain ordinary business man and-” 

“Well, I’d do something—even if it was some¬ 
thing awful like getting drunk or shooting some¬ 
body. Why, if you even had a past you wouldn’t 
be so hopeless. I could love a man with a past. 
It would show at least, that he hadn’t followed 
the line of the least resistance. The world is 
full of canals—but there are only a few canyons. 
Look! I believe we’re stopping! Oh, I hope it’s 


34 


The Texan 


a hold-up! What will you do if it is?” The 
train slowed to a standstill and Winthrop Adams 
Endicott leaned out and gazed along the line of 
the coaches. 

“There is a little town here. Seems to be some 
commotion up ahead—quite a crowd. If I can 
get this blamed gate open we can go up and see 
what the trouble is.” 

“And if you can’t get it open you can climb over 
and lift me down. I’m just dying to know what’s 
the matter. And if you dare to say it wouldn’t 
be conventional I’ll—I’ll jump!” 


CHAPTER II 


WOLF RIVER 

A uniformed flagman, with his flag and a hand¬ 
ful of torpedoes swung from the platform and 
started up the track. 

“What’s the trouble up in front?” asked the 
girl as Endicott assisted her to the ground. 

“Cloud busted back in the mountains, an’ 
washed out the trussle, an’ Second Seventy-six 
piled up in the river.” 

“Oh, a wreck?” she exclaimed. “Will we 
have time to go up and see it?” 

“I’d say it’s a wreck,” grinned the trainman. 
“An’ you’ve got all the time you want. We’re 
a-goin’ to pull in on the sidin’ an’ let the wrecker 
an’ bridge crew at it. But even with ’em a-workin’ 
from both ends it’ll be tomorrow sometime ’fore 
they c’n get them box cars drug out an’ a temp’ry 
trussle throw’d acrost.” 

“What town is this?” 


35 


36 


The Texan 


“Town! Call it a town if you want to. It’s 
Wolf River. It’s a shippin’ point fer cattle, but 
it hain’t no more a town ’n what the crick’s a river. 
The trussle that washed out crosses the crick just 
above where it empties into Milk River. I’ve 
railroaded through here goin’ on three years an’ 
I never seen no water in it to speak of before, 
an’ mostly it’s plumb dry.” 

The man sauntered slowly up the track as one 
who performs a merely nominal duty, and the 
girl turned to follow Endicott. “It would have 
been easier to walk through the train,” he ven¬ 
tured, as he picked his way over the rough track 
ballast. 

“Still seeking the line of least resistance,” 
mocked the girl. “We can walk through a train 
any time. But we can’t breathe air like this, and, 
see,—through that gap—the blue of the distant 
mountains!” 

The man removed his hat and dabbed at his 
forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s awfully hot, 
and I have managed to secrete a considerable por¬ 
tion of the railroad compan}^ gravel in my shoes.” 

“Don’t mind a little thing like that,” retorted 
the girl sweetly. “I’ve peeled the toes of both 
of mine. They look like they had scarlet fever.” 


Wolf River 


37 


Passengers were alighting all a^gng the train 
and hurrying forward to join those who crowded 
the scene of the wreck. 

“It was a narrow escape for us,” said Endicott 
as the two looked down upon the mass of broken 
cars about which the rapidly falling waters of the 
stream gurgled and swirled. “Had we not been 
running an hour late this train would in all prob¬ 
ability, have plunged through the trestle. 

“Was anybody hurt?” asked the girl. The 
train conductor nodded toward the heap of debris. 

“No’m, the crew jumped. The fireman an’ 
head brakeman broke a leg apiece, an’ the rest got 
bunged up a little; but they wasn’t no one hurt. 

“I was just tellin’ these folks,” he continued, 
“that they’ll be a train along on the other side in 
a couple of hours for to transfer the passengers 
an’ mail.” 

The girl turned to Endicott. “There isn’t 
much to see here,” she said. “Let’s look around. 
It’s such a funny little town. I want to buy 
something at the store. And, there’s a livery 
stable! Maybe we can hire horses and ride out 
where we can get a view of the mountains.” 

As the two turned toward the little cluster of 
frame buildings, a tall, horse-faced man clambered 


3^ 


The Texan 


onto the pilot of the passenger locomotive and, 
removing his hat, proceeded to harangue the 
crowd. As they paused to listen Alice stared in 
fascination at the enormous Adam’s apple that 
worked, piston-like above the neckband of the 
collarless shirt of vivid checks. 

“Ladies an’ gents,” he began, with a compre¬ 
hensive wave of the soft-brimmed hat. “Wolf 
River welcomes you in our town. An’ while you’re 
amongst us w~e aim to show you one an’ all a good 
time. This here desastorious wreck may turn 
out to be a blessin’ in disguise. As the Good Book 
says, it come at a most provincial time. Wolf 
River, ladies an’ gents, is celebratin’, this after¬ 
noon an’ evenin’, a event that marks an’ epykak 
in our historious career: The openin’ of the Wolf 
River Citizen’s Bank, a reg’lar bonyfido bank with 
vaults, cashier, an’ a board of directors consistin’ 
of her leadinist citizens, with the Honorable Mayor 
Maloney president, which I introdoose myself as. 

“In concludin’ I repeet that this here is ondoubt- 
fully the luckiest wreck in the lives of any one of 
you, which it gives you a unpressagented chanct 
to see with your own eyes a hustlin’ Western 
town that hain’t ashamed to stand on her own 
legs an’ lead the world along the trail to prosperity. 


Wolf River 


39 


“Wolf River hain’t a braggin’ town, ladies an’ 
gents, but I defy any one of you to name another 
town that’s got more adjacent an’ contigitus 
territory over which to grow onto. We freely 
admit they’s a few onconsequential improvements 
which is possessed by some bigger an’ more noto¬ 
rious cities such as sidewalks, sewers, street- 
gradin’, an’ lights that we hain’t got yet. But 
Wolf River is a day an’ night town, ladies an’ 
gents, combinin’ business with pleasure in just 
the right perportion, which it’s plain to anyone 
that takes the trouble to investigate our shippin’ 
corrals, four general stores, one Aotel, an’ seven 
saloons, all of which runs wide open twenty-four 
hours a day an’ is accommodated with faro, 
roulette, an’ poker outfits fer the benefit of them 
that’s so inclined to back their judgment with a 
little money. 

“In concloodin’ I’ll say that owin’ to the openin’ 
of the bank about which I was tellin’ you of, 
Wolf River is holdin’ the followin’ programme 
which it’s free to everyone to enter into or to 
look on at. 

“They’ll be a ropin’ contest, in which, some of 
our most notorious ropers will rope, throw, an’ 
hog-tie a steer, in the least shortness of time. 


40 


The Texan 


The prizes fer this here contest is: First prize, 
ten dollars, doneated by the directors of the bank 
fer which’s openin’ this celebration is held in 
honour of. Second prize, one pair of pants 
doneated by the Montana Mercantile Company. 
Third prize, one quart of bottle in bond whiskey 
doneated by our pop’lar townsman an’ leadin’ 
citizen, Mr. Jake Grimshaw, proprietor of The 
Long Horn Saloon. 

“The next contest is a buckin’ contest, in which 
some of our most notorious riders will ride or 
get bucked offen some of our most fameous outlaw 
horses. The prizes fer this here contest is: 
First, a pair of angory chaps, doneated by the 
directors of the bank about which I have spoke of 
before. Second prize, a pair of spurs doneated 
by the Wolf River Tradin’ Company. Third 
pri^e, a coffin that was ordered by Sam Long’s 
wife from the Valley Outfittin’ Company, when 
Sam had the apendiceetis of the stummick, an’, 
fer which Sam refused to pay fer when he got well 
contrary to expectations. 

“Both these here contests is open to ladies an’ 
gents, both of which is invited to enter. They 
will also be hoss racin’, fancy an’ trick ridin’, an’ 
shootin’, fer all of which sootable prizes has be’n 


Wolf River 


4i 


pervided, as well as fer the best lookin’ man an’ 
the homliest lady an’ vicy versy. Any lady or 
gent attendin’ these here contests will be gave out 
a ticket good fer one drink at any saloon in town. 
These drinks is on the directors of the bank of 
which I have before referred to. 

“An’, ladies an’ gents, in concloodin’ I’ll say 
that that hain’t all! Follerin’ these here contests, 
after each an’ every lady an’ gent has had time 
to git their drink they’ll be a supper dished out 
at the hotel fer which the directors of the bank of 
which you have already heard mention of has 
put up fifty cents a plate. This here supper is as 
free as gratis to all who care to percipitate an’ 
which will incloode a speech by the Honorable 
Mayor Maloney, part of which I have already 
spoke, but will repeat fer the benefit of them that 
hain’t here. 

“Followin’ the supper a dance will be pulled off 
in Curly Hardee’s dance-hall, the music fer which 
will be furnished by some of our most notorious 
fiddlers incloodin’ Mrs. Slim Maloney, wife of the 
Honorable Mayor Maloney, who will lead the 
grand march, an’ who I consider one of the top 
pyanoists of Choteau County, if not in the hull 
United States. It is a personal fact ladies an’ 


42 


The Texan 


gents, that I’ve heard her set down to a pyano an’ 
play Old Black Joe so natural you’d swear it was 
Home Sweet Home. An’ when she gits het up 
to it, I’ll promise she’ll loosen up an’ tear off 
some of the liveliest music any one of you’s ever 
shook a leg to. 

“An’ now, ladies an’ gents, you can transfer 
an’ go on when the train pulls in on t ’other side, 
or you can stay an’ enjoy yourselves amongst us 
Wolf River folks an’ go on tomorrow when the 
trussle gits fixed- 

4 ‘ Y e-e-e-e-o-o-w! W-h-e-e-e-e. ’ ’ 

Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! A 
chorus of wild yells, a fusillade of shots, and the 
thud of horses’ hoofs close at hand drew all eyes 
toward the group of riders that, spreading fan¬ 
like over the flat that lay between the town and 
the railway, approached at top speed. 

“The cowboys is cornin’! Them’s the Circle 
J,” cried the Mayor. “Things’ll lively up a bit 
when the T U an’ the I X an’ the Bear Paw Pool 
boys gits in.” The cowboys were close, now, and 
the laughing, cheering passengers surged back 
as the horses swerved at full speed with the stir¬ 
rups of their riders almost brushing the outermost 
rank of the crowd. A long thin rope shot out. 



Wolf River 


43 


a loop settled gently about the shoulders of the 
Mayor of Wolf River, and a cowhorse stopped so 
abruptly that a cloud of alkali dust spurted up 
and settled in a grey powder over the clothing of 
the assembled passengers. 

“Come on, Slim, an’ give these folks a chance 
to get their second wind while you let a little 
licker into that system of yours.” 

The Mayor grinned: “Tex Benton, hain’t you 
had no bringin’ up whatever? That was a pretty 
throw but it’s onrespectable, no mor’n what it’s 
respectable to call the Mayor of a place by his 
first name to a public meetin’.” 

“I plumb ferget myself, your Honour,” laughed 
the cowpuncher as he coiled his rope. “Fact is, 
I learnt to rope mares back in Texas, an’ I ain’t 


“Yip-e-i-e!” 

“Ropin’ mares!” The cowboys broke into a 
coyote chorus that drowned the laughter of the 
crowd. 

“The drinks is on me!” sputtered the Mayor, 
when he was able to make himself heard. “Jest 
you boys high-tail over to the Long Horn an’ I’ll 
be along d’rectly.” He turned once more to the 
crowd of passengers. 



44 


The Texan 


“Come on, gents, an’ have a drink on me. An* 
the ladies is welcome, too. Wolf River is broad 
in her idees. We hain’t got no sexual restrictions, 
an’ a lady’s got as good a right to front a bar an’ 
nominate her licker as what a man has.” 

Standing beside Endicott upon the edge of the 
crowd Alice Marcum had enjoyed herself hugely. 
The little wooden town with its high fenced cattle 
corrals, and its row of one story buildings that 
faced the alkali flat had interested her from the 
first, and she had joined with hearty goodwill in 
the rounds of applause that at frequent intervals 
had interrupted the speech of the little town’s 
Mayor. A bom horsewoman, she had watched 
with breathless admiration the onrush of the loose - 
rein riders—the graceful swaying of their bodies, 
and the flapping of soft hat brims, as their horses 
approached with a thunder of pounding hoofs. 
Her eyes had sparkled at the reckless swerving of 
the horses when it seemed that the next moment 
the back-surging crowd would be trampled into the 
ground. She had wondered at the precision with 
which the Texan’s loop fell; and had joined 
heartily in the laughter that greeted the ludicrous 
and red-faced indignation with which a fat woman 
had crawled from beneath a coach whither she 


Wolf River 


45 


had sought refuge from the onrush of thundering 
hoofs. 

In the mind of the girl, cowboys had always 
been associated with motion picture theatres, 
where concourses of circus riders in impossible 
regalia performed impossible feats of horseman¬ 
ship in the unravelling of impossible plots. She 
had never thought of them as real—or, if she had, 
it was as a vanished race, like the Aztec and the 
buffalo. 

But here were real cowboys in the flesh: Open- 
throated, bronzed men, free and unrestrained as 
the air they breathed—men whose very appearance 
called to mind boundless open spaces, purple 
sage, blue mountains, and herds of bellowing 
cattle. Here were men bound by no petty and 
meaningless conventions—men the very sight of 
whom served to stimulate and intensify the long¬ 
ing to see for herself the land beyond the valley 
rims—to slip into a saddle and ride, and ride, and 
ride—to feel the beat of the rain against her face, 
and the whip of the wind, and the burning rays 
of the sun, and at night to lie under the winking 
stars and listen to the howl of the coyotes. 

“Disgusting rowdies!” wheezed the fat woman 
as, dishevelled and perspiring, she waddled toward 


46 


The Texan 


the steps of her coach; while the Mayor, his 
Adam’s apple fairly pumping importance, led a 
sturdy band of thirsters recruited from among 
the train passengers across the flat toward a 
building over the door of which was fixed a pair 
of horns of prodigious spread. Lest some pilgrim 
of erring judgment should mistake the horns for 
short ones, or misapprehend the nature of the 
business conducted within, the white false front 
of the building proclaimed in letters of black a foot 
high: Long Horn Saloon. While beneath the 
legend was depicted a fat, vermilion clad cowboy 
mounted upon a tarantula-bodied, ass-eared horse 
of pink, in the act of hurling a cable-like rope 
which by some prodigy of dexterity was made to 
describe three double-bows and a latigo knot 
before its loop managed to poise in mid-air above 
the head of a rabbit-sized baby-blue steer whose 
horns exceeded in length the pair of Texas mon¬ 
strosities that graced the doorway. 

“We’re goin’ to back onto the sidin’ now,” 
announced the conductor, “where dinner will 
be served in the dinin’ car as ushool.” 

The cowboys had moved along to view the 
wreck and were grouped about the broken end 
of the trestle where they lolled in their saddles, 


Wolf River 


47 


some with a leg thrown carelessly about the horn 
and others lying back over the cantle, while the 
horses which a few moments before had dashed 
across the common at top speed now stood with 
lowered heads and drooping ears, dreaming cay use 
dreams. 

The engine bell was ringing monotonously and 
the whistle sounded three short blasts, while the 
passengers clambered up the steps of the coaches 
or backed away from the track. 

“Let’s walk to the side track, it’s only a little 
way.” 

Alice pointed to where the flagman stood beside 
the open switch. Endicott nodded acquiescence 
and as he turned to follow, the girl’s handkerchief 
dropped from her hand and, before it touched the 
ground, was caught by a gust of wind that swept 
beneath the coaches and whirled out onto the 
flat where it lay, a tiny square of white against 
the trampled buffalo grass. 

Endicott started to retrieve it, but before he had 
taken a half-dozen steps there was a swift pound¬ 
ing of hoofs and two horses shot out from the 
group of cowboys and dashed at full speed, their 
riders low in the saddle and each with his gaze 
fixed on the tiny bit of white fabric. Nose and 


48 


The Texan 


nose the horses ran, their hoofs raising a cloud of 
white alkali dust in their wake. Suddenly, just 
as they reached the handkerchief, the girl who 
watched with breathless interest gasped. The 
saddles were empty! From the madly racing 
horses her glance flew to the cloud of dust which 
concealed the spot where a moment before had 
lain that little patch of white. Her fingers 
clenched as she steeled herself to the sight of the 
two limp, twisted forms that the lifting dust 
cloud must reveal. Scarcely daring to wink she 
fixed her eyes upon the ground—but the dust 
cloud had drifted away and there were no limp, 
twisted forms. Even the little square of white 
was gone. In bewilderment she heard cries of 
approval and loud shouts of applause from the 
passengers. Once more her ears caught the sound 
of pounding hoofs, and circling toward her in a 
wide curve were the two riders, erect and firm in 
their saddles, as a gauntleted hand held high a 
fluttering scrap of white. 

The horses brought up directly before her, a 
Stetson was swept from a thick shock of curly 
black hair, the gauntleted hand extended the 
recalcitrant handkerchief, and she found herself 
blushing furiously for no reason at all beneath the 


Wolf River 


49 


direct gaze of a pair of very black eyes that looked 
out from a face tanned to the colour of old 
mahogany. 

“Oh, thank you! It was splendid—the horse¬ 
manship.” She stammered. “I’ve seen it in 
the movies, but I didn’t know it was actually 
done in real life.” 

“ Yes, mom, it is. It’s owin’ to the horse yeh’ve 
got, an’ yer cinch. Yeh’ll see a heap better’n 
that this afternoon right on this here flat. An’ 
would yeh be lay in’ over fer the dance tonight, 
mom?” 

The abrupt question was even more disconcert¬ 
ing than the compelling directness of his gaze. 
For an instant, the girl hesitated as her eyes 
swept from the cowpuncher’s face to the brilliant 
scarf loosely knotted about his throat, the blue 
flannel shirt, the bright yellow angora chaps against 
which the ivory butt of a revolver showed a 
splotch of white, and the boots jammed into the 
broad wooden stirrups, to their high heels from 
which protruded a pair of enormously rowelled 
spurs inlaid with silver. By her side Endicott 
moved impatiently and cleared his throat. 

She answered without hesitation. “Yes, I 
think I shall.” 


4 


50 


The Texan 


“I’d admire fer a dance with yeh, then,” per¬ 
sisted the cowpuncher. 

“Why—certainly. That is, if I really decide 
to stay.” 

“We’ll try fer to show yeh a good time, mom. 
They’ll be some right lively fiddlin’, an’ she don’t 
bust up till daylight.” 

With a smile the girl glanced toward the other 
rider who sat with an air of tolerant amusement. 
She recognized him as the man called Tex—the 
one who had so deftly dropped his loop over the 
shoulders of the Mayor, and noted that, in com¬ 
parison with the other, he presented rather a sorry 
appearance. The heels of his boots were slightly 
run over. His spurs were of dingy steel and his 
leather chaps, laced up the sides with rawhide 
thongs looked as though they had seen much 
service. The scarf at his throat, however, was 
as vivid as his companion’s and something in 
the flash of the grey eyes that looked into 
hers from beneath the broad brim of the Stet¬ 
son caused an inexplicable feeling of discom¬ 
fort. Their gaze held a suspicion of veiled 
mockery, and the clean cut lips twisted at their 
comers into the semblance of a cynical, smiling 


sneer. 


Wolf River 


5i 


“I want to thank you, too/’ she smiled, “it 
wasn’t your fault your friend-” 

“Jack Purdy’s my name, mom,” interrupted 
the other, importantly. 

“—that Mr. Purdy beat you, I am sure. 
And are you always as accurate as when you 
lassoed the honourable Mayor of Wolf River?” 

“I always get what I go after—sometimes,” 
answered the man meeting her gaze with a flash 
of the baffling grey eyes. A subtle something, 
in look or words, seemed a challenge. Instinctively 
she realized that despite his rough exterior here 
was a man infinitely less crude than the other. 
An ordinary cowpuncher, to all appearance, and 
yet—something in the flash of the eyes, the down¬ 
ward curve of the comers of the lips aroused the 
girl’s interest. He was speaking again: 

“I’ll dance with you, too—if you stay. But 
I won’t mortgage none of your time in advance.” 
The man’s glance shifted deliberately from the 
girl to Endicott and back to the girl again. Then, 
without waiting for her to reply, he whirled his 
horse and swung off at top speed to join the other 
cowpunchers who were racing in the wake of the 
Mayor. 


CHAPTER III 

PURDY 

Some moments later, Jack Purdy nosed his 
horse into the group of cayuses that stood with 
reins hanging, “tied to the ground,” in front 
of the Long Horn Saloon. Beyond the open 
doors sounded a babel of voices and he could see 
the men lined two deep before the bar. 

Swinging from the saddle he threw the stirrup 
over the seat and became immediately absorbed 
in the readjustment of his latigo strap. Close 
beside him Tex Benton’s horse dozed with droop¬ 
ing head. Swiftly a hand whose palm concealed 
an open jack-knife slipped beneath the Texan’s 
right stirrup-leather and a moment later was 
withdrawn as the cayuse, suspicious of the fum¬ 
bling on the wrong side of the saddle, snorted ner¬ 
vously and sheered sharply against another horse 
which with an angry squeal, a laying back of the 
ears, and a vicious snap of the teeth, resented the 


52 


Purdy 


53 


intrusion. Purdy jerked sharply at the reins of 
his own horse which caused that animal to rear 
back and pull away. 

“Whoa, there! Yeh imp of hell!” he rasped, in 
tones loud enough to account for the commotion 
among the horses, and slipping the knife into his 
pocket, entered the saloon from which he emerged 
unobserved while the boisterous crowd was re¬ 
filling its glasses at the solicitation of a white 
goods drummer who had been among the first 
to accept the invitation of the Mayor. 

Three doors up the street he entered a rival 
saloon where the bartender was idly arranging 
his glasses on the back-bar in anticipation of the 
inevitable rush of business which would descend 
upon him when the spirit should move the crowd 
in the Long Horn to start “going the rounds.” 

“Hello, Cinnabar!” The cowpuncher leaned 
an elbow on the bar, elevated a foot to the rail, 
and producing tobacco and a book of brown 
papers, proceeded to roll a cigarette. The bar¬ 
tender returned the greeting and shot the other a 
keen glance from the corner of his eye as he set 
out a bottle and a couple of glasses. 

“Be’n down to the wreck?” he asked, with 
professional disinterestedness. The cowpuncher 


54 


The Texan 


nodded, lighted his cigarette, and picking the 
bottle up by the neck, poured a few drops into his 
glass. “Pretty bad pile-up/’ persisted the bar¬ 
tender as he measured out his own drink. “Two 
or three of the train crew got busted up pretty 
bad. They say- 

“Aw, choke off! What the hell do I care what 
they say? Nor how bad the train crew got busted 
up, nor how bad they didn’t ? ” Purdy tapped the 
bar with his glass as his black eyes fixed the other 
with a level stare. “I came over fer a little talk 
with yeh, private. I’m a-goin’ to win that buckin’ 
contest—an’ yer goin’ to help me— sabe?” 

The bartender shook his head: “I don’t know 
how I c’n help you none.” 

“Well yeh will know when I git through—same 
as Doc Godkins’ll know when I have a little talk 
with him. Yer both a-goin’ to help, you an’ Doc. 
Yeh see, they was a nester’s gal died, a year back, 
over on Beaver Crick, an’ Doc tended her. 1 Tar- 
ford fever, ’ says Doc. But ol’ Lazy Y Freeman 
paid the freight, an’ he thinks about as much of 
the nesters as what he does of a rattlesnake. I 
was ridin’ fer the Lazy Y outfit, an’ fer quite a 
spell ’fore this tarford fever business the ol’ man 
use to ride the barb wire along Beaver, reg’lar. 



Purdy 


55 


Yeh know how loose ol’ Lazy Y is with his change? 
A dollar don’t loom no bigger to him than the 
side of Sugar Loaf Butte, an’ it slips through his 
fingers as easy as a porkypine could back out 
of a gunnysack. Well, that there dose of tarford 
fever that the nester gal died of cost ol’ Lazy Y 
jest a even thousan’ bucks. An’ Doc Godkins 
got it.” 

The cowpuncher paused and the bartender 
picked up his glass. “Drink up,” he said, “an’ 
have another. I do’no what yer talkin’ about 
but it’s jest as bad to not have enough red licker 
in under yer belt when y’ go to make a ride as ’tis 
to have too much.” 

“Never yeh mind about the licker. I c’n 
reg’late my own drinks to suit me. Mebbe I 
got more’n a ride a-comin’ to me ’fore tonight’s 
over.” 

The bartender eyed him questioningly: “You 
usta win ’em all—buckin’, an’ ropin’, an’-” 

“Yes, I usta!” sneered the other. “An’ I could 

now if it wasn’t fer that Texas son of a -! 

Fer three years hand runnin’ he’s drug down every¬ 
thing he’s went into. He c’n out-rope me an’ 
out-ride me, but he can’t out-guess me! An’ 
some day he’s goin’ to have to out-shoot me. 



56 


The Texan 


I’m goin’ to win the buckin’ contest, an’ the ropin’, 
too. See?” The man’s fist pounded the bar. 

The bartender nodded: “Well, here’s to you.” 

Once more Purdy fixed the man with his black- 
eyed stare. “Yes. But they’s a heap more a- 
comin’ from you than a ‘here’s to yeh.’ ” 

“Meanin’ ? ” asked the other, as he mechanically 
swabbed the bar. 

“Meanin’ that you an’ Doc’s goin’ to help me 
do it. An’ that hain’t all. Tonight ’long ’bout 
dance time I want that saddle horse o’ yourn an’ 
yer sideways saddle, too. They’s a gal o’ mine 
come in on the train, which she’ll be wantin’, 
mebbe, to take a ride, an’ hain’t fetched no split- 
up clothes fer to straddle a real saddle. That 
sideways contraption you sent fer ’fore yer gal 
got to ridin’ man-ways is the only one in Wolf 
River, an’ likewise hern’s the only horse that’ll 
stand fer bein’ rigged up in it.” 

“Sure. You’re welcome to the horse an’ 
saddle, Jack. The outfit’s in the livery barn. 
Jest tell Ross to have him saddled agin’ you want 
him. He’s gentled down so’s a woman c’n handle 
him all right.” 

“Uh, huh. An’ how about the other? Y’goin’ 
to do as I say ’bout that, too?” 


Purdy 


57 


The bartender opened a box behind him and 
selected a cigar which he lighted with extreme 
deliberation. “I told you onct I don’t know 
what yer talkin’ about. Lazy Y Freeman an’ 
Doc Godkins’s dirty work ain’t none of my 
business. If you win, you win, an’ that’s all 
there is to it.” 

The cowpuncher laughed shortly, and his black 
eyes narrowed, as he leaned closer. “Oh, that’s 
all, is it? Well, Mr. Cinnabar Joe, let me tell 
yeh that hain’t all—by a damn sight!” He 
paused, but the other never took his eyes from 
his face. “Do yeh know what chloral is?” The 
man’s voice lowered to a whisper and the words 
seemed to hiss from between his lips. The other 
shook his head. “Well, it’s somethin’ yeh slip 
into a man’s licker that puts him to sleep.” 

“You mean drug? Dope!” The bartender’s 
eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth whit¬ 
ened where it gripped the cigar. 

Purdy nodded: “Yes. It don’t hurt no one, 
only it puts ’em to sleep fer mebbe it’s three er 
four hours. I’ll get some from Doc an’ yer 
goin’ to slip a little into Tex Benton’s booze. 
Then he jest nach’lly dozes off an’ the boys thinks 
he’s spliflicated an’ takes him down to the hotel 


58 


The Texan 


an’ puts him to bed, an’ before he wakes up I’ll 
have the buckin’ contest, an’ the ropin’ contest, 
an’ most of the rest of it in my war-bag. I hain’t 
afraid of none of the rest of the boys hornin’ in 
on the money—an’ ’tain’t the money I want 
neither; I want to win them contests particular— 
an’ I’m a-goin’ to.” 

Without removing his elbows from the bar, 
Cinnabar Joe nodded toward the door: “You 
git to hell out o’ here!” he said, quietly. “I don’t 
set in no game with you, see? I don’t want none o’ 
your chips. Of all the God-damned low-lived-” 

“If I was you,” broke in the cowpuncher with 
a meaning look, “I’d choke off ’fore I’d got in 
too fer to back out.” Something in the glint of 
the black eyes caused the bartender to pause. 
Purdy laughed, tossed the butt of his cigarette 
to the floor, and began irrelevantly: “It’s hell— 
jest hell with the knots an’ bark left on—that 
Nevada wild horse range is.” The cowpuncher 
noted that Cinnabar Joe ceased suddenly to puff 
his cigar. “It’s about seven year, mebbe it’s 
eight,” he continued, “that an outfit got the idee 
that mebbe Pete Barnum had the wild horse busi¬ 
ness to hisself long enough. Four of ’ em was pretty 
rough hands, an’ the Kid was headed that way. 



Purdy 


59 


“Them that was there knows a heap more’n 
what I do about what they went through ’fore 
they got out o’ the desert where water-holes 
was about as common as good Injuns. Anyways, 
this outfit didn’t git no wild horses. They was 
good an’ damn glad to git out with what horses 
they’d took in, an’ a whole hide. They’d blow’d 
in all they had on their projec’ an’ they was broke 
when they headed fer Idaho.” The bartender’s 
cigar had gone out and the cowpuncher saw that 
his face was a shade paler. ‘ ‘ Then a train stopped 
sudden one evenin’ where they wasn’t no station, 
an’ after that the outfit busted up. But they 
wasn’t broke no more, all but the Kid. They 
left him shift fer hisself. Couple o’ years later 
two of the outfit drifted together in Cinnabar an’ 
there they found the Kid drivin’ a dude-wagon. 
Drivin’ a dude-wagon through the park is a damn 
sight easier than huntin’ wild horses, an’ a damn 
sight safer than railroadin’ with a Colt, so when 
the two hard hands stops the Kid’s dude-wagon 
in the park, thinkin’ they’d have a cinch goin’ 
through the Kid’s passengers, they got fooled 
good an’ proper when the Kid pumps ’em 
full of .45 pills. After that the Kid come to be 
know’d as Cinnabar Joe, an’ when the last of the 


6 o 


The Texan 


dude-wagons was throw’d out fer automobiles 
the Kid drifted up into the cow country. But 
they’s a certain express company that’s still 
huntin’ fer the gang—not knowin’ o’ course that 
the Cinnabar Joe that got notorious fer defendin' 
his dudes was one of ’em.’ ” 

The cowpuncher ceased speaking and produced 
his “makings” while the other stood gazing 
straight before him, the dead cigar still gripped 
in the corner of his mouth. The scratch of the 
match roused him and quick as a flash he reached 
beneath the bar and the next instant had Purdy 
covered with a six-shooter. With his finger on 
the trigger Cinnabar Joe hesitated, and in that 
instant he learned that the man that faced him 
across the bar was as brave as he was unscrupu¬ 
lous. The fingers that twisted the little cylinder 
of paper never faltered and the black eyes looked 
straight into the muzzle of the gun. 

Now, in the cow country the drawing of a gun 
is one and the same movement with the firing of 
it, and why Cinnabar Joe hesitated he did not 
know. 

Purdy laughed: “Put her down, Cinnabar. 
Yeh won’t shoot, now. Yeh see, I kind of figgered 
yeh might be sort o’ riled up, so I left my gun in 


Purdy 


61 


my slicker. Shootin’ a unarmed man don’t git 
yeh nothin’ but a chanct to stretch a rope.” 

The bartender returned the gun to its place. 
“Where’d you git that dope, Jack?” he asked, 
in a dull voice. 

“Well, seein’ as yeh hain’t so blood-thirsty no 
more, I’ll tell yeh. I swung down into the bad 
lands couple weeks ago huntin’ a bunch of mares 
that strayed off the south slope. I was follerin’ 
down a mud-crack that opens into Big Dry when 
all to onct my horse jumps sideways an’ like to 
got me. The reason fer which was a feller lay in’ 
on the ground where his horse had busted him 
agin’ a rock. His back was broke an’ he was 
mumblin'; which he must of laid there a day, 
mebbe two, cause his tongue an’ lips was dried up 
till I couldn’t hardly make out what he was 
sayin’. I catched here an’ there a word about 
hoi din’ up a train an’ he was mumblin’ your name 
now an’ agin so I fetched some water from a hole 
a mile away an’ camped. He et a little bacon 
later but he was half crazy with the pain in his 
back. He’d yell when I walked near him on the 
ground, said it jarred him, an’ when I tried to 
move him a little he fainted plumb away. But 
he come to agin an’ begged me fer to hand him 


62 


The Texan 


his Colt that had lit about ten feet away so he 
could finish the job. I seen they wasn’t no use 
tryin’ to git him nowheres. He was all in. But 
/ his mutterin’ had interested me consid’ble. I 
figgers if he’s a hold-up, chances is he’s got a nice 
fat cache hid away somewheres, an’ seein’ he hain’t 
never goin’ to need it I might’s well have the hand¬ 
lin’ of it as let it rot where it’s at. I tells him so 
an’ agrees that if he tips off his cache to me I’ll 
retaliate by givin’ him the gun. He swears he 
ain’t got no cache. He’s blow’d everything he had, 
his nerve’s gone, an’ he’s headin’ fer Wolf River 
fer to gouge yeh out of some dinero. He claims 
yeh collected reward on them two yeh got in the 
Yellowstone an’ what’s more the dudes tuk up a 
collection of a thousan’ bucks an’ give it to yeh 
besides. You was his cache. So he handed me 
the dope I just sprung on yeh, an’ he says besides 
that you an’ him’s the only ones left. The other 
one got his’n down in Mexico where he’d throw’d 
in with some Greaser bandits.” 

“An’ what—Did you give him the gun?” asked 
the bartender. 

Purdy nodded: “Sure. He done a good job, 
too. He was game, all right, never whimpered 
nor hung back on the halter. Jest stuck the 


Purdy 


63 


gun in his mouth an’ pulled the trigger. I was 
goin’ to bury him but I heard them mares whinner 
down to the water-hole so I left him fer the buz¬ 
zards an’ the coyotes. 

“About that there chloral. I’ll slip over an’ 
git it from Doc. An’ say, I’m doin’ the right thing 
by yeh. I could horn yeh fer a chunk o’ that 
reward money, but I won’t do a friend that way. 
An’ more’n that,” he paused and leaned closer. 
“I’ll let you in on somethin’ worth while one of 
these days. That there thousan’ that ol’ Lazy 
Y paid Doc hain’t a patchin’ to what he’s goin’ to 
fork over to me. See?” 

Cinnabar Joe nodded, slowly, as he mouthed 
his dead cigar, and when he spoke it was more to 
himself than to Purdy. “I’ve played a square 
game ever since that time back on the edge of the 
desert. I don’t want to have to do time fer that. 
It wouldn’t be a square deal nohow, I was only a 
Kid then an’ never got a cent of the money. Then, 
there’s Jennie over to the hotel. We’d about 
decided that bartendin’ an’ hash-slingin’ wasn’t 
gittin’ us nowheres an’ we was goin’ to hitch up 
an’ turn nesters on a little yak outfit I’ve bought 
over on Eagle.” He stopped abruptly and looked 
the cowpuncher squarely in the eye. “ If it wasn’t 


64 


The Texan 


fer her, by God! I’d tell you jest as I did before, 
to git to hell out of here an’ do your damnedest. 
But it would bust her all up if I had to do time 
fer a hold-up. You’ve got me where you want 
me, I guess. But I don’t want in on no dirty 
money from old Lazy Y, nor no one else. You 
go it alone—it’s your kind of a job. 

“This here chloride, or whatever you call it, 
you sure it won’t kill a man?” 

Purdy laughed: “Course it won’t. It’ll only 
put him to sleep till I’ve had a chanct to win 
out. I’ll git the stuff from Doc an’ find out 
how much is a dost, an’ you kin’ slip it in his 
booze.” 

As the cowpuncher disappeared through the 
door, Cinnabar Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You damn 
skunk!” he muttered, biting viciously upon the 
stump of his cigar. ‘ ‘ If you was drinkin’ anything 
I’d switch glasses on you , an’ then shoot it out 
with you when you come to. From now on it’s 
you or me. You’ve got your hooks into me an’ 
this is only the beginnin’.” The man stopped 
abruptly and stared for a long time at the stove¬ 
pipe hole in the opposite wall. Then, turning, 
he studied his reflection in the mirror behind the 
bottles and glasses. He tossed away his cigar, 


Purdy 65 

straightened his necktie, and surveyed himself 
from a new angle. 

“This here Tex, now, ” he mused. “He sure is a 
rantankerous cuss when he’s lickered up. He’d 
jest as soon ride his horse through that door as 
he would to walk through, an’ he’s always puttin’ 
somethin’ over on someone. But he’s a man. 
He’d go through hell an’ high water fer a friend. 
He was the only one of the whole outfit had 
the guts to tend Jimmy Trimble when he got 
the spotted fever—nursed him back to good as 
ever, too, after the Doc had him billed through 
fer yonder.” Cinnabar Joe turned and brought 
his fist down on the bar. “I’ll do it!” he gritted. 
“Purdy’ll think Tex switched the drinks on me. 
Only I hope he wasn’t lyin’ about that there stuff. 
Anyways, even if he was, it’s one of them things 
a man’s got to do. An’ I’ll rest a whole lot 
easier in my six by two than what I would if I 
give Tex the long good-bye first. ’’ Unconsciously, 
the man began to croon the dismal wail of the 
plains: 

* ‘ 0 bury me not on the lone praire-e-e 
In a narrow grave six foot by three, 

Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free, 
Then bury me not on the lone praire-e-e. 
s 


66 


The Texan 


Yes, we buried him there on the lone praire-e-e 
Where the owl all night hoots mournfulle-e-e 
And the blizzard beats and the wind blows free 
O’er his lonely grave on the lone praire-e-e. 

And the cowboys now as they roam the plain”- 

'‘Hey, choke off on that!” growled Purdy as he 
advanced with rattling spurs. “Puts me in mind 
of him —back there in Big Dry. ’Spose I ort to 
buried him, but it don’t make no difference, now.” 
He passed a small phial across the bar. “Fif¬ 
teen or twenty drops,” he said laconically, and 
laughed. “Nothin’ like keepin’ yer eyes an’ ears 
open. Doc kicked like a steer first, but he seen 
I had his hide hung on the fence onless he loosened 
up. But he sure wouldn’t weep none at my 
demise. If ever I git sick I’ll have some other 
Doc. I’d as soon send fer a rattlesnake.” The 
man glanced at the clock. “It’s workin’ ’long 
to’ards noon, I’ll jest slip down to the Long 
Horn an’ stampede the bunch over here.” 


CHAPTER IV 


CINNABAR JOE 

In the dining car of the side-tracked train Alice 
Marcum’s glance strayed from the face of her table 
companion to the window. Another cavalcade 
of riders had swept into town and with a chorus 
of wild yells the crowd in the Long Horn surged 
out to greet them. A moment later the dis¬ 
mounted ones rushed to their horses, leaped into 
the saddles and, joined by the newcomers, dashed 
at top speed for perhaps thirty yards and dis¬ 
mounted to crowd into another saloon across 
whose front the word Headquarters was em¬ 
blazoned in letters of flaming red. 

“They’re just like a lot of boys, ” exclaimed the 
girl with a smile. ‘ ‘ The idea of anybody mounting 
a horse to ride that distance!” 

“They’re a rough lot, I guess.” Winthrop 
Adams Endicott studied his menu card. 

“Rough! Of course they’re rough! Why 
67 


68 


The Texan 


shouldn’t they be rough ? Think of the work they 
do—rain or shine, riding out there on the plains. 
When they get to town they’ve earned the right 
to play as they want to play! I’d be rough, too, 
if I lived the life they live. And if I were a 
man I’d be right over there with them this 
minute.” 

44 Why be a man?” smiled Endicott. “You 
have the Mayor’s own word for the breadth of 
Wolf River’s ideas. As for myself, I don’t drink 
and wouldn’t enjoy that sort of thing. Besides, 
if I were over there I would have to forgo-” 

“No pretty little speeches, please. At least 
you can spare me that.” 

“But, Alice, I mean it, really. And-” 

“Save ’em for the Cincinnati girls. They’ll 
believe ’em. Who do you think will win this 
afternoon. Let’s bet! I’ll bet you a—an um¬ 
brella against a pair of gloves, that my cavalier 
of the yellow fur trousers will win the bucking 
contest, and-” 

“Our train may pull out before the thing is 
over, and we would never know who won.” 

“Oh, yes we will, because we’re going to stay 
for the finish. Why, I wouldn’t miss this after¬ 
noon’s fun if forty trains pulled out!” 





Cinnabar Joe 69 

“I ought to be in Chicago day after tomorrow, ” 
objected the man. 

“I ought to be, too. But I’m not going to be. 
For Heaven’s sake, Winthrop, for once in your 
life, do something you oughtn’t to do!” 

“All right, ” laughed the man with a gesture of 
surrender. “And for the rope throwing contest 
I’ll pick the other.” 

“What other?” The girl’s eyes strayed past 
the little wooden buildings of the town to the 
clean-cut rim of the bench. 

“Why the other who rode after your handker¬ 
chief. The fellow who lassoed the honourable 
Mayor and was guilty of springing the pun.” 

The girl nodded with her eyes still on the sky¬ 
line. “Oh, yes. He seemed—somehow—differ¬ 
ent. As if people amused him. As if everything 
were a joke and he were the only one who knew it 
was a joke. I could hate a man like that. The 
other, Mr. Purdy, hates him.” 

The man regarded her with an amused smile: 
“You keep a sort of mental card index. I should 
like to have just a peep at my card.” 

“Cards sometimes have to be rewritten—and 
sometimes it really isn’t worth while to fill them 
out again. Come on, let’s go. People are begin- 


7<> 


The Texan 


ning to gather for the fun and I want a good seat. 
There’s a lumber pile over there that’ll be just 
the place, if we hurry.” 

In the Headquarters saloon Tex Benton leaned 
against the end of the bar and listened to a Bear 
Paw Pool man relate how they took in a bunch of 
pilgrims with a badger game down in Glasgow. 
Little knots of cowpunchers stood about drinking 
at the bar or discussing the coming celebration. 

“They’ve got a bunch of bad ones down in the 
corral, ” someone said. “That ol’ roman nose, an’ 
the wall-eyed pinto, besides a lot of snorty lookin’ 
young broncs. I tell yeh if Tex draws either one 
of them ol’ outlaws it hain’t no cinch he’ll grab 
off this ride. The hombre that throws his kak 
on one of them is a-goin’ to do a little sky-ballin’ 
’fore he hits the dirt, you bet. But jest the same 
I’m here to bet ten to eight on him before the 
dr awin’.” 

Purdy who had joined the next group turned 
at the words. 

“I’ll jest take that,” he snapped. “Because 
Tex has drug down the last two buckin’ contests 
hain’t no sign he c’n go south with ’em all.” At 
the end of the bar Tex grinned as he saw Purdy 
produce a roll of bills. 


Cinnabar Joe 


71 


‘‘An’, by gosh!” the Bear Paw Pool man was 
saying, “when they’d all got their money down an’ 
the bull dog was a-clawin’ the floor to git at the 
badger, an’ the pilgrims was crowded around 
with their eyes a-bungin’ out of their heads, ol’ 
Two Dot Wilson, he shoves the barrel over an’ 
they wasn’t a doggone thing in under it but 


“What yeh goin’ to have, youse?” Purdy 
had caught sight of Tex who stood between the 
Bear Paw Pool man and Bat Lajune. “I’m 
bettin’ agin’ yeh winnin’ the buckin’ contest, 
but I’ll buy yeh a drink.” 

Tex grinned as his eyes travelled with slow 
insolence over the other’s outfit. 

“You’re sure got up some colourful, Jack,” 
he drawled. ‘ ‘ If you sh’d happen to crawl up into 
the middle of one of them real outlaws they got 
down in the corral, an’ quit him on the top end 
of a high one, you’re a-goin’ to look like a rainbow 
before you git back.” 

The other scowled: “I guess if I tie onto one 
of them outlaws yeh’ll see me climb off ’bout the 
time the money’s ready. Yeh Texas fellers comes 
up here an’ makes yer brag about showin’ us 
Montana boys how to ride our own horses. But 



72 


The Texan 


it’s real money talks! I don’t notice you backin’ 
up yer brag with no real dinero” 

Tex was still smiling. “That’s because I ain’t 
found any one damn fool enough to bet agin’ me.’’ 

“Didn’t I jest tell yeh I w r as bettin’ agin’ you?’’ 

“Don’t bet enough to hurt you none. How 
much you got, three dollars? An’ how much odds 
you got to get before you’ll risk ’em?’’ 

Purdy reached for his hip pocket. “Jest to 
show yeh what I think of yer ridin’ I’ll bet yeh 
even yeh don’t win.’’ 

“Well,’’ drawled the Texan, “seein’ as they 
won’t be only about ten fellows ride, that makes 
the odds somewhere around ten to one, which 
is about right. How much you want to bet?” 

With his fingers clutching his roll of bills, 
Purdy’s eyes sought the face of Cinnabar Joe. 
For an instant he hesitated and then slammed the 
roll onto the bar. 

“She goes as she lays. Count it!” 

The bartender picked up the money and ran 
it through. “Eighty-five,” he announced, laconi¬ 
cally. 

“That’s more’n I got on me, ” said Tex ruefully, 
as he smoothed out three or four crumpled bills 
and capped the pile with a gold piece. 


Cinnabar Joe 


73 


Purdy sneered: “It’s money talks,” he re¬ 
peated truculently. “ ’Tain’t hardly worth while 
foolin’ with no piker bets but if that’s the best 
yeh c’n do I’ll drag down to it.” He reached for 
his roll. 

“Hold on!” The Texan was still smiling but 
there was a hard note in his voice. “She goes as 
she lays.” He turned to the half-breed who stood 
close at his elbow. 

“Bat. D’you recollect one night back in Las 
Vegas them four bits I loant you? Well, just you 
shell out about forty dollars interest on them four 
bits an’ we’ll call it square for a while.” The 
half-breed smiled broadly and handed over his roll. 

“Forty-five, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty—” 
counted Tex, and with a five-dollar bill between his 
thumb and forefinger, eyed Purdy condescend¬ 
ingly: “I’m a-goin’ to let you drag down that 
five if you want to,” he said, “’cause you’ve 
sure kissed good-bye to the rest of it. They ain’t 
any of your doggoned Montana school-ma’m- 
cayuses but what I c’n ride slick-heeled, an’ with 
my spurs on—” he paused; “better drag down 
the five. You might need a little loose change 
if that girl should happen to get thirsty between 
dances.” 


74 


The Texan 


“Jest leave it lay,” retorted Purdy; “an’ at 
that, I’ll bet I buy her more drinks than what you 
do.” 

Tex laughed: “Sure. But there ain’t nothin’ 
in buy in’ ’em drinks. I’ve bought ’em drinks all 
night an’ then some other hombre’d step in an’-” 

“I’d bet yeh on that , too. I didn’t notice her 
failin’ no hell of a ways fer you.’’ 

“Mebbe not. I wasn’t noticin’ her much. I 
was kind of study in’ the pilgrim that was along 
with her.” 

“What’s he got to do with it?” 

“That’s what I was tryin’ to figger out. But, 
hey, Cinnabar, how about that drink? I’m dry 
as a post-hole.” 

‘‘Fill ’em up, Cinnabar. I’m makin’ this noise, ” 
seconded Purdy. And as the Texan turned to 
greet an acquaintance, he caught out of the tail 
of his eye the glance that flashed between Purdy 
and the bartender. Noticed, also out of the tail 
of his eye, that, contrary to custom, Cinnabar 
filled the glasses himself and that a few drops of 
colourless liquid splashed from the man’s palm 
into the liquor that was shoved toward him. 
The Texan knew that Purdy had watched the 
operation interestedly and that he straightened 



Cinnabar Joe 


75 


with an audible sigh of relief at its conclusion. 
“Come on, drink up!” Purdy raised his glass 
as Tex faced the bar with narrowed eyes. 

“What’s them fellows up to?” cried Cinnabar 
Joe, and as Purdy turned, glass in hand, to 
follow his glance Tex saw the bartender swiftly 
substitute his own glass for the one into which 
he had dropped the liquid. 

The next instant Purdy was again facing him. 
“What fellers?” he asked sharply. 

Cinnabar Joe laughed: “Oh, that Bear Paw 
Pool bunch. Fellow’s got to keep his eye peeled 
whenever they git their heads together. Here’s 
luck.” 

For only an instant did Tex hesitate while his 
brain worked rapidly. “There’s somethin’ bein’ 
pulled off here,” he reasoned, “that I ain’t next to. 
If that booze was doped why did Cinnabar drink 
it? Anyways, he pulled that stall on Purdy fer 
some reason an’ it’s up to me to see him through 
with it. But if I do git doped it won’t kill me an’ 
when I come alive they’s a couple of fellows goin’ 
to have to ride like hell to keep ahead of me.” 

He drank the liquor and as he returned the glass 
to the bar he noted the glance of satisfaction that 
flashed into Purdy’s eyes. 


76 


The Texan 


“Come on, boys, let’s git things a-goin’!’ f 
Mayor Maloney stood in the doorway and beamed 
good humouredly: “’Tain’t every cowtown’s got 
a bank an’ us Wolf Riverites has got to do ourself 
proud. Every rancher an’ nester in forty mile 
around has drove in. The flat’s rimmed with 
wagons an’ them train folks is cocked up on the 
lumber piles a-chickerin’ like a prairie-dog town. 
We’ll pull off the racin’ an’ trick ridin’ an’ shootin’ 
first an’ save the ropin’ an’ buckin’ contests to 
finish off on. Come on, you’ve all had enough 
to drink. Jump on your horses an’ ride out on 
the fiat like hell was tore loose fer recess. Then 
when I denounce what’s a-comin’, them that’s 
goin’ to complete goes at it, an’ the rest pulls 
off to one side an’ looks on ’til their turn 
comes.” 

A six-shooter roared and a bullet crashed into 
the ceiling. 

“Git out of the way we’re a-goin’ by!” howled 
someone, and instantly the chorus drowned the 
rattle of spurs and the clatter of high-heeled 
boots as the men crowded to the door. 

“ Cowboys out on a yip ti yi! 

Coyotes howl and night birds cry 
And we’ll be cowboys ’til we die!” 


Cinnabar Joe 


77 


Out in the street horses snorted and whirled 
against each other, spurs rattled, and leather 
creaked as the men leaped into their saddles. 
With a thunder of hoofs, a whirl of white dust, 
the slapping of quirts and ropes against horses’ 
flanks, the wicked bark of forty-fives, and a series 
of Comanche-like yells the cowboys dashed out 
onto the flat. Once more Tex Benton found 
himself drawn up side by side with Jack Purdy 
before the girl, for whose handkerchief they had 
raced. Both waved their hats, and Alice 
smiled as she waved her handkerchief in 
return. 

“Looks like I was settin’ back with an ace in 
the hole, so far,” muttered Tex, audibly. 

Purdy scowled: “Ace in the hole’s all right 
sometimes. But it’s the lad that trails along with 
a pair of deuces back to back that comes up with 
the chips, cashin’ in time.” 

Slim Maloney announced a quarter-mile dash 
and when Purdy lined up with the starters, 
Tex quietly eased his horse between two 
wagons, and, slipping around behind the lum¬ 
ber-piles, rode back to the Headquarters Sa¬ 
loon. The place was deserted and in a chair 
beside a card table, with his head buried in his 


78 


The Texan 


arms, sat Cinnabar Joe, asleep. The cowpuncher 
crossed the room and shook him roughly by the 
shoulder: 

“Hey, Joe^-wake up!” 

The man rolled uneasily and his eyelids drew 
heavily apart. He mumbled incoherently. 

“Wake up, Joe!” The Texan redoubled his 
efforts but the other relapsed into a stupor from 
which it was impossible to rouse him. 

A man hurrying past in the direction of the flats 
paused for a moment to peer into the open door. 
Tex glanced up as he hurried on. 

“Doc!” There was no response and the cow- 
puncher crossed to the door at a bound. The 
street was deserted, and without an instant’s 
hesitation he dashed into the livery and feed barn 
next door whose wide aperture yawned deserted 
save for the switching of tails and the stamping 
of horses* feet in the stalls. The door of the har¬ 
ness room stood slightly ajar and Tex jerked it 
open and entered. Harness and saddles littered 
the floor and depended from long wooden pegs set 
into the wall while upon racks hung sweatpads 
and saddle blankets of every known kind and 
description. Between the floor and the lower 
edge of the blankets that occupied a rack at the 


Cinnabar Joe 79 

farther side of the room a pair of black leather 
shoes showed. 

“Come on, Doc, let’s go get a drink.” The 
shoes remained motionless. “Gosh! There’s a 
rat over in under them blankets!” A forty-five 
hammer was drawn back with a sharp click. 
The shoes left the floor simultaneously and the 
head and shoulders of a man appeared above the 
rack. 

‘ ‘ Eh! Was someone calling me ? ’ ’ 

“Yeh, I was speakin’ of rats-” 

“My hearing’s getting bad. I was fishing 
around for my saddle blanket. Those bam dogs 
never put anything where it belongs.” 

“That’s right. I said let’s go get a drink. 
C’n you hear that?” Tex noted that the man’s 
face was white and that he was eyeing him in¬ 
tently, as he approached through the litter. 

“Just had one, thanks. Was on my way down 
to the flats to see the fun, and thought I’d see if 
my blanket had dried out all right.” 

“Yes? Didn’t you hear me when I hollered 
at you in the saloon a minute ago?” 

“No. Didn’t know any one was in there.” 

“You’re in a hell of a fix with your eyesight an’ 
hearin’ all shot to pieces, ain’t you? But I reckon 


8o 


The Texan 


they’re goin’ to be the best part of you if you don’t 
come along with me. Cinnabar Joe’s be’n doped. ’ ’ 

“Cinnabar Joe!” The doctor’s surprise was 
genuine. 

“Yes. Cinnabar Joe. An’ you better get on 
the job an’ bring him to, or they’ll be tossin’ dry 
ones in on top of you about tomorrow. Sold 
any drugs that w’d do a man that way, lately?’’ 

The doctor knitted his brow. “Why let’s see. 
I don’t remember-” 

“Your mem’ry ain’t no better’n what your eye¬ 
sight an’ hearin’ is, is it? I reckon mebbe a little 
jolt might get it to workin’.” As Tex talked 
even on, his fist shot out and landed squarely upon 
the other’s nose and the doctor found himself 
stretched at full length among the saddles and 
odds and ends of harness. Blood gushed from 
his nose and flowed in a broad wet stream across 
his cheek. He struggled weakly to his feet and 
interposed a shaking arm. 

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he whimpered. 

“No. I’m the one that’s doin’. Is your parts 
workin’ better? ’Cause if they ain’t-” 

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you!” 
The man spoke hurriedly as he cringed from the 
doubling fist. 


Cinnabar Joe 


81 


“1 know you sold the dope, ’cause when I told 
you about Cinnabar you wasn’t none surprised 
at the dope—but at who’d got it. You sold it to 
Jack Purdy an’ you knew he aimed to give it to 
me. What’s more, your eyesight an’ hearin’ is as 
good as mine. You seen me an’ heard me in the 
saloon an’ you was scairt an’ run an’ hid in the 
harness room. You’re a coward, an’ a crook, an’ 
a damn liar! Wolf River don’t need you no more. 
You’re a-comin’ along with me an’ fhc Cinnabar 
up an’ then you’re a-goin’ to go down to the depot 
an’ pick you out a train that don’t make no 
local stops an’ climb onto it an’ ride ’til you get 
where the buffalo grass don’t grow. That is, on- 
less Cinnabar should happen to cash in. If he 
does-” 

“He won’t! He won’t! It’s only chloral. A 
little strychinne will fix him up.” 

“Better get busy then. ’Cause if he ain’t to in 
an hour or so you’re a-goin’ to flutter on the down 
end of a tight one. These here cross-arms on 
the railroad’s telegraph poles is good an’ stout 
an’ has the added advantage of affordin’ good 
observation for all, which if you use a cottonwood 
there’s always some that can’t see good on ac¬ 
count of limbs an’ branches bein’ in the road- 99 


6 




82 


The Texan 


“Come over to the office ’til I get what I need 
and I’ll bring him around all right!” broke in the 
doctor and hurried away, with the cowpuncher 
close at his heels. 


CHAPTER V 


ON THE FLAT 

As Mayor Maloney had said, every rancher 
and nester within forty miles of Wolf River had 
driven into town for the celebration. Farm 
wagons, spring wagons, and automobiles were 
drawn wheel to wheel upon both sides of the flat. 
From the vehicles women and children in holiday 
attire applauded the feats of the cowboys with 
cheers and the waving of handkerchiefs, while 
the men stood about in groups and watched 
with apparent indifference as they talked of 
fences and flumes. 

From the top of the lumber piles, and the long 
low roof of the wool warehouse, the train passengers 
entered into the spirit of the fun gasping in horror 
at some seemingly miraculous escape from death 
beneath the pounding hoofs of the cow-horses, 
only to cheer themselves hoarse when they saw that 
the apparent misadventure had been purposely 
staged for their benefit. 


8 4 


The Texan 


Races were won by noses. Hats, handkerchiefs, 
and even coins were snatched from the ground by 
riders who hung head and shoulder below their 
horses' bellies. Mounts were exchanged at full 
gallop. Playing cards were pierced by the bullets 
of riders who dashed past them at full speed. 
And men emptied their guns in the space of 
seconds without missing a shot. 

In each event the gaudily caparisoned Jack 
Purdy was at the fore, either winning or crowding 
the winner to his supremest effort. And it was 
Purdy who furnished the real thrill of the shooting 
tournament when, with a six-shooter in each hand, 
he jumped an empty tomato can into the air at 
fifteen paces by sending a bullet into the ground 
beneath its base and pierced it with a bullet from 
each gun before it returned to earth. 

A half-dozen times he managed to slip over for 
a few words with Alice Marcum—a bit of expla¬ 
nation of a coming event, or a comment upon 
the fine points of a completed one, until uncon¬ 
sciously the girl’s interest centred upon the dash¬ 
ing figure to an extent that she found herself 
following his every movement, straining forward 
when his supremacy hung in the balance, keenly 
disappointed when another wrested the honours 


On the Flat 


85 


from him, and jubilantly exultant at his victories. 
So engrossed was she in fallowing the fortunes 
of her knight that she failed to notice the grow¬ 
ing disapproval of Endicott, who sat frowning and 
silent by her side. Failed, also, to notice that as 
Purdy’s attentions waxed more obvious she herself 
became the object of many a glance, and lip to 
ear observation from the occupants of the close- 
drawn vehicles. 

It was while Mayor Maloney was announcing 
the roping contest and explaining that the man 
who 4 'roped, throw’d, an’ hog-tied” his steer in 
the least number of seconds, would be the winner, 
that the girl’s thoughts turned to the cowpuncher 
who earlier in the day had so skilfully demonstrated 
his ability with the lariat. 

- In vain her eyes sought the faces of the cow¬ 
boys. She turned to Purdy who had edged his 
horse close beside the lumber pile. 

“Where is your friend—the one who raced 
with you for my handkerchief?” she asked. “I 
haven’t seen him since you both rode up in that 
first wild rush. He hasn’t been in any of the 
contests.” 

“No, mom,” answered the cowpuncher, in 
tones of well-simulated regret; “he’s—he’s prob’ly 


86 


The Texan 


over to some saloon. He’s a good man some ways, 
Tex is. But he can’t keep off the booze.” 

Kicking his feet from the stirrups the man stood 
upright in his saddle and peered over the top of 
an intervening pile of lumber. “Yes, I thought 
so. His horse is over in front of the Headquarters. 
Him an’ Cinnabar Joe’s prob’ly holdin’ a booze 
histin’ contest of their own.” Slipping easily 
into his seat, he unfastened the rope from his 
saddle, and began slowly to uncoil it. 

11 All ready! ’ ’ called the Mayor. 1 * Go git him ! ’ ’ 

A huge black steer dashed out into the open 
with a cowboy in full pursuit, his loop swinging 
slowly above his head. Down the middle of the 
flat they tore, the loop whirling faster as the horse¬ 
man gained on his quarry. Suddenly the rope 
shot out, a cloud of white dust rose into the an¬ 
as the cow-horse stopped in his tracks, a moment 
of suspense, and the black steer dashed frantically 
about seeking an avenue of escape while in his 
wake trailed the rope like a long thin snake with 
its fangs fastened upon the frantic brute’s neck. 
A roar of laughter went up from the crowd and 
Purdy turned to the girl. “Made a bad throw 
an’ got him around the neck,” he explained. 
“When you git ’em that way you got to turn ’em 


On the Flat 


87 


loose or they’ll drag you all over the flat. A 
nine-hundred-pound horse hain’t got no show 
ag’in a fifteen-hundred-pound steer with the rope 
on his neck. An’ even if the horse would hold, 
the cinch wouldn’t, so he's out of it.” 

The black steer was rounded up and chased 
from the arena, and once more Mayor Maloney, 
watch in hand, cried 11 Go git him!" 

Another steer dashed out and another cowboy 
with whirling loop thundered after him. The 
rope fell across the animal’s shoulders and the 
loop swung under. The horse stopped, and the 
steer, his fore legs jerked from under him, fell 
heavily. To make his rope fast to the saddle-horn 
and slip to the ground leaving the horse to fight 
it out with the captive, was the work of a moment 
for the cowboy who approached the struggling 
animal, short rope in hand. Purdy who was 
leaning over his saddle-horn, watching the man’s 
every move, gave a cry of relief. 

“He’s up behind! That’ll fix your clock!” 
Sure enough, the struggling animal had succeeded 
in regaining his hind legs and while the horse, 
with the cunning of long practice, kept his rope 
taut, the steer plunged about to such good purpose 
that precious seconds passed before the cowboy 


88 


The Texan 


succeeded in making his tie-rope fast to a hind 
foot, jerking it from under the struggling animal, 
and securing it to the opposite fore foot. 

“Three minutes an’ forty-three seconds!” an¬ 
nounced the Mayor. “Git ready for the next 
one. . . . Go git him!” 

This time the feat was accomplished in a little 
over two minutes and the successful cowboy was 
greeted with a round of applause. Several others 
missed their throws or got into difficulty, and 
Purdy turned to the girl: 

“If I got any luck at all I’d ort to grab off this 
here contest. They hain’t be’n no fancy ropin’ 
done yet. If I c’n hind-leg mine they won’t be 
nothin’ to it.” He rode swiftly away and a 
moment later, to the Mayor’s 11 Go git him!” 
dashed out after a red and white steer that plunged 
down the field with head down and tail lashing the 
air. Purdy crowded his quarry closer than had 
any of the others and with a swift sweep of his 
loop enmeshed the two hind legs of the steer. 
The next moment the animal was down and the 
cowpuncher had a hind foot fast in the tie rope. 
Several seconds passed as the man fought for a 
fore foot—seconds which to the breathlessly 
watching girl seemed hours. Suddenly he sprang 


On the Flat 


89 


erect. “ One minute an' forty-nine seconds!” an¬ 
nounced the Mayor and the crowd cheered wildly. 

Upon the lumber pile Alice Marcum ceased 
her handclapping as her eyes met those of a cow¬ 
boy who had ridden up unobserved and sat his 
horse at almost the exact spot that had, a few 
moments before, been occupied by Purdy. She 
was conscious of a start of surprise. The man 
sat easily in his saddle, and his eyes held an 
amused smile. Once more the girl found herself 
resenting the smile that drew down the comer 
of the thin lips and managed to convey an amused 
tolerance or contempt on the part of its owner 
toward everything and everyone that came within 
its radius. 

“If they hain’t no one else wants to try their 
hand, ” began the Mayor, when the Texan inter¬ 
rupted him: 

“Reckon I’ll take a shot at it if youVe got a 
steer handy.” 

“Well, dog my cats! If I hadn’t forgot you! 
Where you be’n at? If you’d of got here on time 
you’d of stood a show gittin’ one of them steers 
that’s be’n draw’d. You hain’t got no show now 
’cause the onliest one left is a old long-geared 
roan renegade that’s on the prod— 



90 


The Texan 


Tex yawned: “Jest you tell 'em to run him 
in, Slim, an’ I’ll show you how we-all bust ’em 
wide open down in Texas.” 

Three or four cowpunchers started for the 
corral with a whoop and a few minutes later the 
men who had been standing about in groups 
began to clamber into wagons or seek refuge 
behind the wheels as the lean roan steer shot out 
onto the flat bounding this way and that, the 
very embodiment of wild-eyed fury. But before 
he had gone twenty yards there was a thunder of 
hoofs in his wake and a cow-horse, his rider 
motionless as a stone image in his saddle, closed 
up the distance until he was running almost against 
the flank of the frenzied renegade. There was 
no preliminary whirling of rope. The man rode 
with his eyes fixed on the flying hind hoofs while 
a thin loop swung from his right hand, extended 
low and a little back. 

Suddenly—so suddenly that the crowd was 
still wondering why the man didn’t swing his 
rope, there was a blur of white dust, a brown 
streak as the cow-horse shot across the forefront 
of the big steer, the thud of a heavy body on the 
ground, the glimpse of a man among the thrash¬ 
ing hoofs, and then a mighty heaving as the huge 


On the Flat 


9i 


steer strained against the rope that bound his 
feet, while the cowboy shoved the Stetson to the 
back of his head and felt for his tobacco and 
papers. 

“Gosh sakes!" yelled Mayor Maloney excitedly 
as he stared at the watch in his hand. “Fifty- 
seven seconds! They can't beat that down to 
Cheyenne!" 

At the words, a mighty cheer went up from the 
crowd and everybody was talking at once. While 
over beside the big steer the cowboy mounted his 
pony and coiling his rope as he rode, joined the 
group of riders who lounged in their saddles and 
grinned their appreciation. 

“Ladies an' gents," began the Mayor, “you 
have jest witnessed a ropin' contest the winner 
of which is Tex Benton to beat who McLaughlin 
himself would have to do his da—doggondest! 
We will now conclood the afternoon's galaxity 
of spurious stars, as the circus bills says, with 
a buckin' contest which unneedless to say will 
conclood the afternoon’s celebration of the openin' 
of a institoot that it's a credit to any town in 
reference to which I mean the Wolf River Citizen's 
Bank in which we invite to whose vaults a fair 
share of your patrimony. While the boys is 


92 


The Texan 


gittin* ready an’ drawin’ their horses a couple of 
gents will pass amongst you an' give out to one 
an’ all, ladies an’ gents alike, an’ no favorytes 
played, a ticket good fer a free drink in any saloon 
in Wolf River on the directors of the bank I have 
endeavoured to explain about which. After which 
they’ll be a free feed at the hotel also on the 
directors. Owin’ to the amount of folks on hand 
this here will be pulled off in relays, ladies furst, 
as they hain’t room fer all to onct, but Hank, here, 
claims he’s got grub enough on hand so all will 
git a chanct to shove right out ag’in their belt. 
An’ I might say right here in doo elegy of our 
feller townsman that Hank c’n set out as fillin’ 
an’ tasty a meal of vittles as anyone ever cocked 
a lip over, barrin’, of course, every married man’s 
wife. 

“Draw your horses, boys, an’ git a-goin’!’ 

Alice Marcum’s surprise at Tex Benton’s re¬ 
markable feat, after what Purdy had told her, was 
nothing to the surprise and rage of Purdy himself 
who had sat like an image throughout the per¬ 
formance. When the Mayor began his oration 
Purdy’s eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd and 
seeing that neither Cinnabar Joe nor the doctor 
were present, slipped his horse around the end 


On the Flat 


93 


of the lumber pile and dashed for the doctor's 
office. “That damn Doc’ll wisht he hadn't 
never double-crossed me!" he growled, as he 
swung from the saddle before the horse had come 
to a stop. The office was empty and the man 
turned to the Headquarters saloon. Inside were 
the two men he sought, and he approached them 
with a snarl. 

“What the hell did yeh double-cross me for?" 
he shouted in a fury. 

The doctor pointed to Cinnabar Joe who, still 
dazed from the effect of the drug, leaned upon 
the table. “I didn't double-cross you. The 
wrong man got the dope, that’s all." 

Cinnabar Joe regarded Purdy dully. “He 
switched glasses," he muttered thickly. 

A swift look of fear flashed into Purdy’s eyes. 
“How’n hell did he know we fixed his licker?" 
he cried, for well he realized that if the Texan 
had switched glasses he was cognizant of the 
attempt to dope him. Moistening his lips with 
his tongue, the cowpuncher turned abruptly on 
his heel. “Guess I’ll be gittin’ back where they’s 
a lot of folks around, " he muttered as he mounted 
his horse. “ I got to try an’ figger out if he knows 
it was me got Cinnabar to dope his booze. An’ if 


94 


The Texan 


he does—’’ The man's face turned just a shade 
paler beneath the tan— “I got to lay off this 
here buckin' contest. I hain’t got the guts to 
tackle it." 

“Have you drawn your horse?" he had reached 
the lumber pile and the girl was smiling down at 
him. He shook his head dolefully. 

“No, mom, I hain’t a-goin’ to ride. I spraint 
my shoulder ropin’ that steer an’ I just be’n over 
to see doc an’ he says I should keep offen bad 
horses fer a spell. It’s sure tough luck, too, ’cause 
I c’d of won if I c’d of rode. But I s’pose I’d ort 
co be satisfied, I drug down most of the other 
money—all but the ropin’, an’ I’d of had that if it 
hadn’t of be’n fer Tex Benton’s luck. An’ he’ll 
win ag’in, chances is—if his cinch holds. Here 
he comes now; him an’ that breed. They hain’t 
never no more’n a rope’s len’th apart. Tex 
must have somethin’ on him the way he dogs him 
around." 

The girl followed his glance to the Texan who 
approached accompanied by Bat Lajune and a 
cowboy who led from the horn of his saddle 
a blaze-faced bay with a roman nose. As the 
three drew nearer the girl could see the mocking 
smile upon his lips as his eyes rested for a moment 


On the Flat 


95 


on Purdy. “ jl don’t like that man,” she said, as 
though speaking to herself, “and yet-” 

“Plenty others don’t like him, too,” growled 
Purdy. “I’m glad he’s draw’d that roman nose, 
’cause he’s the out-buckin’est outlaw that ever 
grow’d hair—him an’ that pinto, yonder, that’s 
hangin’ back on the rope.” 

The Texan drew up directly in front of the 
lumber pile and ignoring Purdy entirely, raised 
his Stetson to the girl. The direct cutting of 
Purdy had been obviously rude and Alice Marcum 
felt an increasing dislike for the man. She re¬ 
turned his greeting with a perfunctory nod and 
instantly felt her face grow hot with anger. The 
Texan was laughing at her—was regarding her 
with an amused smile. 

A yell went up from the crowd and out on the 
flat beyond the Texan, a horse, head down and 
back humped like an angry cat, was leaping into 
the air and striking the ground stiff-legged in a 
vain effort to shake the rider from his back. 

“’Bout as lively as a mud turtle. He’ll sulk 
in a minute,” laughed the Texan, and true 
to the prophecy, the horse ceased his efforts 
and stood with legs wide apart and nose to the 
ground. 


9 6 


The Texan 


“V/hoopee!” 

“He’s a ringtailed woozoo!” 

“Thumb him!” 

“Scratch him!” 

The crowd laughed and advised, and the cow¬ 
boy thumbed and scratched, but the broncho’s 
only sign of animation was a vicious switching 
of the tail. 

“Next horse!” cried the Mayor, and a horse 
shot out, leaving the ground before the rider 
was in the saddle. Straight across the flat he 
bucked with the cowboy whipping higher and 
higher in the saddle as he tried in vain to catch 
his right stirrup. 

“He’s a goner!” 

“He’s clawin’ leather!” 

To save himself a fall the rider had grabbed the 
horn of the saddle, and for him the contest was 
over. 

“Come on, Bat, we’ll throw the shell on this 
old buzzard-head. I’m number seven an’ there’s 
three down!” called the Texan. 

The two swung from the saddles and the roman¬ 
nosed outlaw pricked his ears and set against the 
rope with fore legs braced. The cowboy who had 
him in tow took an extra dally around the saddle 


On the Flat 


97 


horn as the Texan, hackamore in hand, felt his 
way inch by inch along the taut lead-rope. As 
the man’s hand touched his nose the outlaw 
shuddered and braced back until only the whites 
of his eyes showed. Up came the hand and the 
rawhide hackamore slipped slowly into place. 

“He’s a-goin’ to ride with a hackamore!’ cried 
someone as the Texan busied himself with the 
knots. Suddenly the lead-rope slackened and 
with a snort of fury the outlaw reared and lashed 
out with both forefeet. The Texan stepped swiftly 
aside and as the horses’ feet struck the ground 
the loaded end of a rawhide quirt smashed against 
his jaw. 

Bat Lajune removed the saddle from the Texan’s 
horse and stepped forward with the thick felt pad 
which Tex, with a hand in the cheek-strap of 
the hackamore, brushed along the outlaw’s sides 
a few times and then deftly threw over the animal’s 
back. The horse, braced against the rope, stood 
trembling in every muscle while Bat brought 
forward the saddle with the right stirrup-leather 
and cinch thrown back over the seat. As he was 
about to hand it to the Texan he stopped suddenly 
and examined the cinch. Then without a word 
carried it back, unsaddled his own horse, and 

7 


98 


The Texan 


taking the cinch from his saddle exchanged it 
for the other. 

“Just as easy to switch cinches as it is drinks, 
ain’t it, Bat?” grinned Tex. 

“Ba Goss! Heem look lak’ Circle J boun’ for 
be wan man short,” replied the half-breed, and 
the girl, upon whom not a word nor a move had 
been lost, noticed that Purdy’s jaw tightened 
as the Texan laughed at the apparently irrelevant 
remark. 

The outlaw shuddered as the heavy saddle was 
thrown upon his back and the cinch ring deftly 
caught with a loop of rope and made fast. 

Out on the flat number four, on the pinto out¬ 
law, had hit the dirt, number five had ridden 
through on a dead one, and number six had quit 
his in mid-air. 

“Next horse—number seven! ” called the Mayor. 
The cowboy who had the broncho in tow headed 
out on the flat prepared to throw off his dallies 
and two others, including Purdy, rode forward 
quirt in hand, to haze the hate-blinded outlaw 
from crashing into the wagons. With his hand 
gripping the cheek-strap, Tex turned and looked 
straight into Purdy’s eyes. 

“ Go crawl under a wagon an’ chaw a bone, ” he 


On the Flat 


99 


said in a low even voice, “I’ll whistle when I 
want you." For an instant the men’s glances 
locked, while the onlookers held their breath. 
Purdy was not a physical coward. The insult 
was direct, uttered distinctly, and in the hearing 
of a crowd. At his hip was the six-gun with 
which he had just won a shooting contest—yet 
he did not draw. The silence was becoming 
painful when the man shrugged, and without a 
word, turned his horse away. Someone laughed, 
and the tension broke with a hum of low-voiced 
conversation. 

* 1 Next horse, ready! ’ ’ 

As the crowd drew back Alice Marcum leaned 
close to Purdy’s ear. 

“I think it was splendid!” she whispered; “it 
was the bravest thing I ever saw.” The man 
could scarcely believe his ears. 

“Is she kiddiri’ me?” he wondered, as he forced 
his glance to the girl’s face. But no, she was in 
earnest, and in her eyes the man read undisguised 
admiration. She was speaking again. 

“Any one of these,” she indicated the crowd 
with a sweep of her gloved hand, “would have 
shot him, but it takes a real man to preserve 
perfect self-control under insult.” 


IOO 


The Texan 


The cowpuncher drew a long breath. “Yes, 
mom,” he answered; “it was pretty tough to 
swaller that. But somehow I kind of—of hated 
to shoot him.” Inwardly he was puzzled. What 
did the girl mean? He realized that she was in 
earnest and that he had suddenly become a hero 
in her eyes. Fate was playing strangely into 
his hands. A glitter of triumph flashed into his 
eyes, a glitter that faded into a look of wistfulness 
as they raised once more to hers. 

“Would you go to the dance with me tonight, 
mom? These others—they don’t git me right. 
They’ll think I didn’t dast to shoot it out with 
him.” 

The girl hesitated, and the cowpuncher con¬ 
tinued. “The transfer train’s pulled out an’ the 
trussle won’t be fixed ’til momin’, you might’s 
well take in the dance.” 

Beside her Endicott moved uneasily. “Cer¬ 
tainly not!” he exclaimed curtly as his eyes met 
Purdy’s. And then, to the girl, “If you are 
bound to attend that performance you can go 
with me.” 

“Oh, I can go with you, can I?” asked the girl 
sweetly. “Well thank you so much, Winthrop, 
but really you will have to excuse me. Mr. 


On the Flat 


IOI 


Purdy asked me first.” There was a sudden 
flash of daring in her eyes as she turned to the 
cowpuncher. “I shall be very glad to go,” she 
said; “will you call for me at the car?” 

“ I sure will, ” he answered, and turned his eyes 
toward the flats. This was to be his night, his 
last on the Wolf River range, he realized savagely. 
In the morning he must ride very far away. For 
before the eyes of all Wolf River he had swal¬ 
lowed an insult. And the man knew that Wolf 
River knew why he did not shoot. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE RIM OF THE BENCH 

Out on the flat the Texan was riding “straight 
up” amid a whirl of white dust. 

“Fan him, Tex!” 

“Stay with him!” 

The cries of the cowboys cut high above the 
chorus of yelling applause as the furious outlaw 
tried every known trick to unseat the rider. High 
in the air he bucked, swapping ends like a flash, 
and landing with all four feet “on a dollar,” his 
legs stiff as jack-pine posts. The Texan rode 
with one hand gripping the hackamore rope and 
the other his quirt which stung and bit into the 
frenzied animal’s shoulders each time he hit the 
ground. In a perfect storm of fury the horse 
plunged, twisted, sunfished, and bucked to free 
himself of the rider who swayed easily in the 
saddle and raked him flank and sides with his 
huge rowelled spurs. 


102 


The Rim of the Bench 


103 


“Stay a long time!” 

“Scratch him, Tex!” yelled the delighted cow- 
punchers. 

Suddenly the yells of appreciation gave place 
to gasps even from the initiated, as the rage- 
crazed animal leaped high into the air and throw¬ 
ing himself backward, crashed to the ground 
squarely upon his back. As the dust cloud lifted 
the Texan stood beside him, one foot still in the 
stirrup, slashing right and left across the struggling 
brute’s ears with his braided quirt. The outlaw 
leaped to his feet with the cowboy in the saddle 
and the crowd went wild. Then with the enthusi¬ 
asm at its height, the man jerked at his hackamore 
knot, and the next moment the horse’s head was 
free and the rider rode “on his balance” without 
the sustaining grip on the hackamore rope to 
hold him firm in his saddle. The sudden loosening 
of the rawhide thongs gave the outlaw new life. 
He sunk his head and redoubled his efforts, as 
with quirt in one hand and hackamore in the 
other the cowboy lashed his shoulders while his 
spurs raked the animal to a bloody foam. Slower 
and slower the outlaw fought, pausing now and 
then to scream shrilly as with bared teeth and 
blazing eyes he turned this way and that, sucking 


104 


The Texan 


the air in great blasts through his blood-dripping 
nostrils. 

At last he was done. Conquered. For a mo¬ 
ment he stood trembling in every muscle, and 
as he sank slowly to his knees, the Texan stepped 
smiling from the saddle. 

“Sometime, Slim,” he grinned as he reached 
for his tobacco and papers, “if you-all can get 
holt of a horse that ain’t plumb gentle, I’ll show 
you a real ride.” 

All about was the confusion attendant to the 
breaking-up of the crowd. Men yelled at horses 
as they hitched them to the wagons. Pedestrians, 
hurrying with their tickets toward the saloons, 
dodged from under the feet of cowboys’ horses, 
and the flat became a tangle of wagons with 
shouting drivers. 

Alice Marcum stood upon the edge of the lumber- 
pile with the wind whipping her skirts about her 
silk stockings as the Texan, saddle over his arm, 
glanced up and waved a gauntleted hand. The 
girl returned the greeting with a cold-eyed stare 
and once more found herself growing furiously 
angry. For the man’s lips twisted into their 
cynical smile as his eyes rested for a moment upon 
her own, shifted, lingered with undisguised ap- 


The Rim of the Bench 


105 


proval upon her silk stockings, and with devilish 
boldness, returned to her own again. Suddenly 
his words flashed through her brain. “I always 
get what I go after—sometimes.” She recalled 
the consummate skill with which he had conquered 
the renegade steer and the outlaw broncho— 
mastered them completely, and yet always in an 
off-hand manner as though the thing amused him. 
Never for a moment had he seemed to exert him¬ 
self—never to be conscious of effort. Despite 
herself the girl shuddered nervously, and ignoring 
Endicott’s proffer of assistance, scrambled to the 
ground and hastened toward her coach. 

A young lady who possessed in a high degree 
a very wholesome love of adventure, Alice Marcum 
coupled with it a very unwholesome habit of 
acting on impulse. As unamenable to reason as 
she was impervious to argument, those who would 
remonstrate with her invariably found themselves 
worsted by the simple and easy process of turning 
their weapons of attack into barriers of defence. 
Thus when, an hour later, Winthrop Adams 
Endicott found her seated alone at a little table 
in the dining-car he was agreeably surprised when 
she greeted him with a smile and motioned him 
into the chair opposite. 


io 6 


The Texan 


“For goodness’ sake, Winthrop, sit down and 
talk to me. There’s nothing so stupid as dining 
alone—and especially when you want to talk to 
somebody.” As Endicott seated himself, she 
rattled on: “I wanted to go to that preposterous 
supper they are going to ‘dish up’ at the hotel, 
but when I found they were going to separate the 
1 ladies and gents’ and feed them in relays, I some¬ 
how lost the urge. The men, most of them, are 
interesting—but the women are deadly. I know 
just what it would be—caught snatches of it from 
the wagons during the lulls—preserves, and babies, 
and what Harry’s ma died of. The men carry 

an atmosphere of unrestraint—of freshness-” 

Endicott interrupted her with a nod: “Yes,” 

he observed, dryly, “ I believe that is the term-” 

“ Don’t be guilty of a pun, Winthrop. At least, 
not a slangy one. It’s quite unsuited to your style 
of beauty. But, really, wasn’t it all delightful? 
Did you ever see such riding, and shooting, and 
lassoing?” 

“No. But I have never lived in a country 
where it is done. I have always understood that 
cowboys were proficient along those lines, but 

why shouldn’t they be? It’s their business-” 

“There you go—reducing everything to terms 





The Rim of the Bench 


107 


of business! Can't you see the romance of it— 
what it stands for? The wild free life of the 
plains, the daily battling with the elements, and the 
mastery of nerve and skill over blind brute force 
and fury! I love it! And tonight I’m going to 
a real cowboy dance." 

“Alice!" The word carried a note of grave 
disapproval. “Surely you were not serious about 
attending that orgy!" 

The girl stared at him in surprise. “Serious! 
Of course I’m serious! When will I ever get 
another chance to attend a cowboy dance—and 
with a real cowboy, too?" 

“The whole thing is preposterous! Perfectly 
absurd! If you are bound to attend that affair 
I will take you there, and we can look on and-" 

“I don’t want to look on. I want to dance— 
to be in it all. It will be an experience I’ll never 
forget." 

The man nodded: “And one you may never 
cease to regret. What do you know of that man? 
Of his character; of his antecedents? He may be 
the veriest desperado for all you know." 

The girl clapped her hands in mock delight: 
“Oh, wouldn’t that be grand! I hadn’t thought 
of that. To attend a dance with just a plain cow- 



io 8 


The Texan 


boy doesn’t fall to every girl’s lot, but one who 
is a cowboy and a desperado, tool” She rolled 
her eyes to express the seventh heavendom of 
delight. 

Endicott ignored the mockery. “I am sure 
neither your mother nor your father-” 

“No, neither of them would approve, of course. 
But really, Winthrop, I’m way past the short 
petticoat stage—though the way they’re making 
them now nobody would guess it. I know it’s 
improper and unconventional and that it isn’t 
done east of the Mississippi nor west of the Rocky 
Mountains. But when in Rome do as the roamers 
do, as someone has said. And as for Mr. Purdy,” 
she paused and looked Endicott squarely in the 
eyes. “Do you know why he didn’t shoot that 
disgusting Tex when he insulted him?” 

Endicott nodded. “Yes, ” he answered. “Be¬ 
cause he was afraid to.” 

Colour suffused the girl’s face and she arose 
abruptly from the table. “At least,” she said 
haughtily, “you and Wolf River are thoroughly 
in accord on that point.” 

As the man watched her disappear through the 
doorway he became aware that the fat woman 
who had sought refuge under the coach was 



The Rim of the Bench 


109 


staring at him through her lorgnette from her seat 
across the aisle. 

“Young man, I believe you insulted that girl!” 
she wheezed indignantly. 

“You should be a detective, madam. Not even 
a great one could be farther from the truth, ” he 
replied dryly, and rising, passed into the smoking 
compartment of his Pullman where he consumed 
innumerable cigarettes as he stared out into the 
gathering night. 

Seated in her own section of the same Pullman, 
Alice Marcum sat and watched the twilight 
deepen and the lights of the little town twinkle 
one by one from the windows. Alone in the 
darkening coach the girl was not nearly so sure 
she was going to enjoy her forthcoming adventure. 
Loud shouts, accompanied by hilarious laughter 
and an occasional pistol shot, floated across the 
flat. She pressed her lips tighter and heartily 
wished that she had declined Purdy’s invitation. 
It was not too late, yet. She could plead a head¬ 
ache, or a slight indisposition. She knew per¬ 
fectly well that Endicott had been right and she 
wrong but, with the thought, the very feminine 
perversity of her strengthened her determination 
to see the adventure through. 


IIO 


The Texan 


“Men are such fools!” she muttered angrily. 
“I’ll only stay a little while, of course, but I’m 
going to that dance if it is the last thing I ever do 
—just to show him that—that—” her words 
trailed into silence without expressing just what 
it was she intended to show him. 

As the minutes passed the girl’s eyes glowed 
with a spark of hope. “Maybe,” she muttered, 
“maybe Mr. Purdy has forgotten, or—” the 
sentence broke off shortly. Across the flat a rider 
was approaching and beside him trotted a lead- 
horse upon whose back was an empty saddle. 
For just an instant she hesitated, then rose from 
her seat and walked boldly to the door of the 
coach. 

“ Good evenin’, mom, ” the cowboy smiled as he 
dismounted to assist her from the steps of the 
coach. 

“Good evening,” returned the girl. “But, 
you needn’t to have gone to the trouble of bringing 
a horse just to ride that little way.” 

“’Twasn’t no trouble, mom, an’ he’s woman 
broke. I figured yeh wouldn’t have no ridin’ 
outfit along so I loant a sideways saddle offen a 
friend of mine which his gal usta use before she 
learnt to ride straddle. The horse is hem, too, 


The Rim of the Bench 


hi 


an’ gentle as a dog. Here I’ll give yeh a h’ist.” 
The lead-horse nickered softly, and reaching up, 
the girl stroked his velvet nose. 

“He’s woman broke,” repeated the cowboy, 
and as Alice looked up her eyes strayed past him 
to the window of the coach where they met Endi- 
eott’s steady gaze. 

The next moment Purdy was lifting her into 
the saddle, and without a backward glance the 
two rode out across the flat. 

The girl was a devoted horsewoman and with 
the feel of the horse under her, her spirits revived 
and she drew in a long breath of the fragrant 
night. There was a living tang to the air, soft with 
the balm of June, and as they rode side by side 
the cowboy pointed toward the east where the 
sharp edge of the bench cut the rim of the rising 
moon. Alice gasped at the beauty of it. The 
horses stopped and the two watched in silence 
until the great red disc rose clear of the clean-cut 
sky-line. 

About the wreck torches flared and the night 
was torn by the clang and rattle of gears as the 
great crane swung a boxcar to the side. The single 
street was filled with people—women and men 
from the wagons, and cowboys who dashed past 


112 


The Texan 


on their horses or clumped along the wooden 
sidewalk with a musical jangle of spurs. 

The dance-hall was a blaze of light toward which 
the people flocked like moths to a candle flame. 
As they pushed the horses past, the girl glanced 
in. Framed in the doorway stood a man whose 
eyes met hers squarely—eyes that, in the lamplight 
seemed to smile cynically as they strayed past her 
and rested for a moment upon her companion, 
even as the thin lips were drawn downward at 
their comers in a sardonic grin. 

Unconsciously she brought her quirt down 
sharply, and her horse, glad of the chance to stretch 
his legs after several days in the stall, bounded for¬ 
ward and taking the bit in his teeth shot past the 
little cluster of stores and saloons, past the strag¬ 
gling row of houses and headed out on the trail 
that wound in and out among the cottonwood 
clumps of the valley. At first, the girl tried 
vainly to check the pace, but as the animal settled 
to a steady run a spirit of wild exhilaration took 
possession of her—the feel of the horse bounding 
beneath her, the muffled thud of his hoofs in the 
soft sand of the trail, the alternating patches of 
moonlight and shadow, and the keen tang of the 
night air—all seemed calling her, urging her on 


The Rim of the Bench 


1 13 

At the paint where the trail rose abruptly in its 
ascent to the bench, the horse slackened his pace 
and she brought him to a stand, and for the first 
time since she left the town, realized she was not 
alone. The realization gave her a momentary 
start, as Purdy reined in close beside her; but a 
glance into the man’s face reassured her. 

“Oh, isn’t it just grand! I feel as if I could 
ride on, and on, and on.’’ 

The man nodded and pointed upward where 
the surface of the bench cut the sky-line sharply. 

“Yes, mom,” he answered respectfully. “If 
yeh’d admire to, we c’n foller the trail to the top 
an’ ride a ways along the rim of the bench. If 
you like scenes, that ort to be worth while lookin’ 
at. The dance won’t git a-goin’ good fer an hour 
yet ’til the folks gits het up to it.” 

For a moment Alice hesitated. The romance 
of the night was upon her. Every nerve tingled 
with the feel of the wild. Her glance wandered 
from the rim of the bench to the cowboy, a pictur¬ 
esque figure as he sat easily in his saddle, a figure 
toned by the soft touch of the moonlight to an 
intrinsic symbolism of vast open spaces. 

Something warned her to go back, but—what 
harm could there be in just riding to the top ? Only 


The Texan 


114 

for a moment—a moment in which she could feast 
her eyes upon the widespread panorama of moonlit 
wonder—and then, they would be in the little 
town again before the dance was in full swing. 
In her mind’s eye she saw Endicott’s disapproving 
frown, and with a tightening of the lips she started 
her horse up the hill and the cowboy drew in 
beside her, the soft brim of his Stetson conceal¬ 
ing the glance of triumph that flashed from his 
eyes. 

The trail slanted upward through a narrow 
coulee that reached the bench level a half-mile 
back from the valley. As the two came out 
into the open the girl once more reined her horse 
to a standstill. Before her, far away across the 
moonlit plain the Bear Paws loomed in mysterious 
grandeur. The clean-cut outline of Miles Butte, 
standing apart from the main range, might have 
been an Egyptian pyramid rising abruptly from 
the desert. From the very centre of the sea 
of peaks the snow-capped summit of Big Baldy 
towered high above Tiger Ridge, and Saw Tooth 
projected its serried crown until it seemed to 
merge into the Little Rockies which rose indistinct 
out of the dim beyond. 

The cowboy turned abruptly from the trail 


The Rim of the Bench 


ii 5 

and the two headed their horses for the valley 
rim, the animals picking their way through the 
patches of prickly pears and clumps of low sage 
whose fragrant aroma rose as a delicate incense 
to the nostrils of the girl. 

Upon the very brink of the valley they halted, 
and in avred silence Alice sat drinking in the exqui¬ 
site beauty of the scene. 

Before her as far as the eye could see spread the 
broad reach of the Milk River Valley, its obfusk 
depths relieved here and there by bright patches 
of moonlight, while down the centre, twisting in 
and out among the dark clumps of cottonwoods, 
the river wound like a ribbon of gleaming silver. 
At widely scattered intervals the tiny lights of 
ranch houses glowed dull yellow in the distance, 
and almost at her feet the clustering lights of the 
town shone from the open windows and doors 
of buildings which stood out distinctly in the 
moonlight, like a village in miniature. Faint 
sounds, scarcely audible in the stillness of the 
night floated upward—the thin whine of fiddles, 
a shot now and then from the pistol of an exuberant 
cowboy sounding tiny and far away like the report 
of a boy’s pop-gun. 

The torches of the wrecking crew flickered 


Ii6 


The Texan 


feebly and the drone of their hoisting gears scarce 
broke the spell of the silence. 

Minutes passed as the girl’s eyes feasted upon 
the details of the scene. 

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” she breathed, and 
then in swift alarm, glanced suddenly into the 
man’s face. Unnoticed he had edged his horse 
close, so that his leg brushed hers in the saddle. 
The fiat brim did not conceal the eyes now, that 
stared boldly into her face and in sudden terror 
the girl attempted to whirl her horse toward the 
trail. But the man’s arm shot out and encircled 
her waist and his hot breath was upon her cheek. 
With all the strength of her arm she swung her 
quirt, but Purdy held her close; the blow served 
only to frighten the horses which leaped apart, 
and the girl felt herself dragged from the saddle. 

In the smoking compartment of the Pullman, 
Endicott finished a cigarette as he watched the 
girl ride toward the town in company with Purdy. 

“She’s a—a headstrong little fool /” he growled 
under his breath. He straightened out his legs 
and stared gloomily at the brass cuspidor. “Well, 
I’m through. I vowed once before I’d never have 
anything more to do with her—and yet—” He 


The Rim of the Bench 


ii 7 

hurled the cigarette at the cuspidor and took a 
turn up and down the cramped quarters of the 
little room. Then he stalked to his seat, met the 
fat lady’s outraged stare with an ungentlemanly 
scowl, procured his hat, and stamped off across 
the flat in the direction of the dance-hall. As 
he entered the room a feeling of repugnance came 
over him. The floor was filled with noisy dancers, 
and upon a low platform at the opposite end of the 
room three shirt-sleeved, collarless fiddlers sawed 
away at their instruments, as they marked time 
with boots and bodies, pausing at intervals to 
mop their sweat-glistening faces, or to swig from 
a bottle proffered by a passing dancer. Rows of 
onlookers of both sexes crowded the walls and 
Endicott’s glance travelled from face to face in a 
vain search for the girl. 

A little apart from the others the Texan leaned 
against the wall. The smoke from a limp cigarette 
which dangled from the corner of his lips curled 
upward, and through the haze of it Endicott saw 
that the man was smiling unpleasantly. Their 
eyes met and Endicott turned toward the door 
in hope of finding the girl among the crowd that 
thronged the street. 

Hardly had he reached the sidewalk when he 


Ii8 


The Texan 


felt a hand upon his arm, and turned to stare 
in surprise into the dark features of a half-breed 
—the same, he remembered, who had helped the 
Texan to saddle the outlaw. With a swift motion 
of the head the man signalled him to follow, and 
turned abruptly into the deep shadow of an alley 
that led along the side of the livery bam. Some¬ 
thing in the half-breed’s manner caused Endicott 
to obey without hesitation and a moment later 
the man turned and faced him. 

“You hont you ’oman?” Endicott nodded 
impatiently and the half-breed continued: “She 
gon' ridin’ wit Purdy.” He pointed toward the 
winding trail. “Mebbe-so you hur’ oop, you 
ketch.” Without waiting for a reply the man 
slipped the revolver from his holster and pressed 
it into the astonished Endicott’s hand, and catch¬ 
ing him by the sleeve, hurried him to the rear 
of the stable where, tied to the fence of the corral, 
two horses stood saddled. Loosing one, the man 
passed him the bridle reins. “Dat hoss, she 
damn good hoss. Mebbe-so you ride lak’ hell 
you com’ long in tarn’. Dat Purdy, she not 
t’ink you got de gun, mebbe-so you git chance to 
kill um good.” As the full significance of the 
man’s words dawned upon him Endicott leaped 


The Rim of the Bench 


119 

into the saddle and, dashing from the alley, headed 
at full speed out upon the winding, sandy trail. 
On and on he sped, flashing in and out among the 
clumps of cottonwood. At the rise of the trail 
he halted suddenly to peer ahead and listen. A 
full minute he stood while in his ears sounded 
only the low hum of mosquitoes and the far-off 
grind of derrick wheels. 

He glanced upward and for a moment his heart 
stood still. Far above, on the rim of the bench, 
silhouetted clearly against the moonlight sky were 
two figures on horseback. Even as he looked 
the figures blended together—there was a swift 
commotion, a riderless horse dashed from view, 
and the next moment the sky-line showed only 
the rim of the bench. 

The moon turned blood-red. And with a 
curse that sounded in his ears like the snarl of a 
beast, Winthrop Adams Endicott tightened his 
grip upon the revolver and headed the horse up 
the steep ascent. 

The feel of his horse labouring up the trail held 
nothing of exhilaration for Endicott. He had 
galloped out of Wolf River with the words of the 
half-breed ringing in his ears: “Mebbe-so you 
ride lak’ hell you conT long in tamM” But, 


120 


The Texan 


would he “com’ long in tarn’ ”? There had been 
something of sinister portent in that swift merging 
together of the two figures upon the sky-line, and 
in the flash-like glimpse of the riderless horse. 
Frantically he dug his spurless heels into the 
labouring sides of his mount. 

“Mebbe-so you kill um good,” the man had 
said at parting, and as Endicott rode he knew 
that he would kill, and for him the knowledge 
held nothing of repugnance—only a wild fierce 
joy. He looked at the revolver in his hand. 
Never before had the hand held a lethal weapon, 
yet no slightest doubt as to his ability to use it 
entered his brain. Above him, somewhere upon 
the plain beyond the bench rim, the woman he 
loved was at the mercy of a man whom Endicott 
instinctively knew would stop at nothing to gain 
an end. The thought that the man he intended 
to kill was armed and that he was a dead shot 
never entered his head, nor did he remember that 
the woman had mocked and ignored him, and 
against his advice had wilfully placed herself in 
the man’s power. She had harried and exasper¬ 
ated him beyond measure—and yet he loved her. 

The trail grew suddenly lighter. The walls of 
the coulee flattened into a wide expanse of open. 


The Rim of the Bench 


121 


Mountains loomed in the distance and in the white 
moonlight a riderless horse ceased snipping grass, 
raised his head, and with ears cocked forward, 
stared at him. In a fever of suspense Endicott 
gazed about him, straining his eyes to penetrate 
the half-light, but the plain stretched endlessly 
away, and upon its surface was no living, moving 
thing. 

Suddenly his horse pricked his ears and sniffed. 
Out of a near-by depression that did not show in 
the moonlight another horse appeared. It, too, 
was riderless, and the next instant, from the same 
direction sounded a low, muffled cry and, leaping 
from his saddle, he dashed toward the spot. The 
sage grew higher in the depression which was the 
head of a branch of the coulee by means of which 
the trail gained the bench, and as he plunged in, 
the head and shoulders of a man appeared above 
a bush. Endicott was very close when the man 
pushed something fiercely from him, and the body 
of a woman crashed heavily into the sage. Level¬ 
ling the gun, he fired. The shot rang loud, and 
upon the edge of the depression a horse snorted 
nervously. The man pitched forward and lay 
sprawled grotesquely upon the ground and Endi¬ 
cott saw that his extended hand grasped a revolver. 


122 


The Texan 


Dully he stared at the thing on the ground at 
his feet. There was a movement in the scrub 
and Alice Marcum stood beside him. He glanced 
into her face. And as her eyes strayed from the 
sprawling figure to meet his, Endicott read in 
their depths that which caused his heart to race 
madly. She stepped toward him and suddenly 
both paused to listen. The girl’s face turned 
chalk-white in the moonlight. From the direction 
of the coulee came the sound of horses’ hoofs 
pounding the trail! 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ARREST 

Bat La June grinned into the dark as the gal¬ 
loping cow-horse carried Endicott out upon the 
trail of Purdy and the girl. “A’m t’ink dat wan 
good job. Mebbe-so de pilgrim keel Purdy, 
bien! Mebbe-so Purdy keel de pilgrim, den de 
sheriff ketch Purdy an’ she got for git hang—dat 
pret’ good, too. Anyhow, Tex, she don’ got for 
bodder ’bout keel Purdy no mor’. Tex kin keel 
him all right, but dat Purdy she damn good shot, 
too. Mebbe-so she git de drop on Tex. Den 
afterwards, me—A’m got to fool ’roun’ an’ keel 
Purdy, an’ mebbe-so A’m hang for dat, too. 
W’at de hell!” 

A man rode up to the corral and tied his horse 
to the fence. The half-breed drew into the 
shadow. “Dat Sam Moore,” he muttered. “She 
dipity sheriff, an’ she goin’ try for git ’lect for de 
beeg sheriff dis fall. Mebbe-so she lak’ for git 
12 3 


124 


The Texan 


chanct for ’rest som’one. A’m goin’ see ’bout 
dat.” He stepped to the side of the man, who 
started nervously and peered into his face. 

‘‘Hello, Bat, what the devil you doin’ prowlin’ 
around here? Why hain’t you in dancin’?” 

The half-breed shrugged: “Me, A’m no lak’ 
for dance mooch. She don’ do no good. Any¬ 
how, A’m hont ’roun’ for fin’ you. A’m t’ink 
mebbe-so you better com’ ’long wit’ me.” 

“Come along with you! What’s on yer 
mind?” Suddenly the man straightened: “Say, 
look a here, if you’re up to helpin’ Tex Benton 
pull off any gag on me, you’ve picked the wrong 
hand, see!” 

The other shook his head vigorously: 11 Non! 
Tex, she goin’ in de dance-hall. She don’ know 
nuthin’ ’bout w’at A’m know.” 

“What you drivin’ at? Come on, spit ’er out! 
I hain’t a-goin’ to fool ’round here all night an’ 
miss the dancin’.” 

Bat stepped closer: “Two mans an’ wan 
’oman gon’ up de trail. A’m t’ink som’one goin’ 
for git keel. Mebbe-so we better gon’ up an’ see 
’bout dat.” 

“You’re crazy as hell! The trail’s free, hain’t 
it? What business I got homin’ in on ’em? I 


The Arrest 


125 


come to town for to take in the dance, an’ I’m 
a-goin’ to. Besides it’s a good chanct to do a 
little ’lectioneerin’.” Once more Bat shrugged, 
and turning away, began to untie his horse. 

“Four Ace Johnson, over ’crost de riv’, she 
dipity sher’ff, too. A’m hear she goin’ run for 
de beeg sher’ff, nex’ fall. A’m gon’ over an’ see 
if she no lak’ to go ’long an’ mak’ de arres’ if som’- 
ting happen. Mebbe-so w’en de votin’ tarn’ 
com’ ’long de men lak’ for hav’ Choteau County 
sher’ff w’at kin mak’ de arres’ better as de sher’ff 
w’at kin dance good. Voild /” Without so much 
as a glance toward the other, he slipped into his 
saddle and started slowly down the alley. Before 
he reached the street Moore’s horse pushed up 
beside him. 

“Where’s this here outfit?” he growled, with 
a glance toward the dance-hall lights, “ an’ what 
makes you think they’s a-goin’ to be gun-fightin ’ ?” 

“A’m t’ink dey ain’ so far,” replied the half- 
breed as he swung into the trail at a trot. And 
although the impatient deputy plied him with a 
volley of questions the other vouchsafed no further 
information. Midway of the ascent to the bench 
the two drew rein abruptly. From above, and 
at no great distance, rang the sound of a shot- 


126 


The Texan 


then silence. The deputy glanced at the half* 
breed: “Hey, Bat,” he whispered, “this here’s 
a dangerous business!” 

“Mebbe-so Choteau County lak’ to git de 
sher’ff w’at ain’ so mooch scairt.” 

“Scairt! Who’s scairt? It hain’t that. But 
I got a wife an’ nine kids back there in the moun¬ 
tains, an’ I’m a-goin’ to deputize you.” 

The half-breed shot him a look of sudden alarm: 
“Non! Non! Better I lak’ I ponch de cattle. 
You ke’p de nine wife an’ de kid!” 

“You hain’t got no more sense than a reser¬ 
vation Injun!” growled the deputy. “What 
I mean is, you got to help me make this here 
arrest!” 

The half-breed grinned broadly: “Me,—A’m 
de, w’at you call, de posse, eh? Bien! Com’ on 
’long den. Mebbe-so we no ketch, you no git 
’lect for sher’ff.” 

At the head of the trail the deputy checked his 
galloping mount with a jerk and scrutinized the 
three riderless horses that stood huddled together. 
His face paled perceptibly. “Oh, Lord!” he 
gasped between stiffening lips: “It’sTex, an’ Jack 
Purdy, an’ they’ve fit over Cinnabar Joe’s gal!” 
He turned wrathfully toward Bat. “Why’n 


The Arrest 


127 


you tell me who it was up here, so’s I could a 
gathered a man’s-size posse?” he demanded. 

“Whichever one of them two has shot up the other, 
they hain’t goin’ to be took in none peaceable. 
An’ if theyVe killed one of each other a’ready, 
he ain’t goin’ to be none scrupulous about pottin’ 
you an’ me. Chances is, they’ve got us covered 
right now. ’Tain’t noways percautious to go 
ahead—an’ we don’t dast to go back! Bat, this 
is a hell of a place to be—an’ it’s your fault. 
Mebbe they won’t shoot a unarmed man—here 
Bat, you take my gun an’ go ahead. I’ll tell 
’em back there how you was game to the last. 
O-O-o-o-o! I got a tumble cramp in my stum- 
mick! I got to lay down. Do your duty, Bat, 
an’ if I surmise this here attact, which I think 
it’s the appendeetus, I’ll tell ’em how you died 
with yer boots on in the service of yer country.” 
The man forced his six-shooter into the half- 
breed’s hand and, slipping limply from his saddle 
to the ground, wriggled swiftly into the shadow 
of a sage bush. 

Bat moved his horse slowly forward as he peered 
about him. “If Purdy keel de pilgrim, den A’m 
better look out. He don’ lak’ me nohow, ’cause 
A’m fin’ out ’bout dat cinch. Better A’m lak’ 


128 


The Texan 


Sam Moore, A'm git de ’pendeceet in my belly 
for liT w’ile.” He swung off his horse and flat¬ 
tening himself against the ground, advanced 
cautiously from bush to bush. At the edge of the 
depression he paused and stared at the two figures 
that huddled close together a few feet ahead. 
Both were gazing toward the trail and in the 
moonlight he recognized the face of the pilgrim. 
With a smile of satisfaction the half-breed stood 
erect and advanced boldly. 

“You com’ in tarn’, eh?” he asked, as with a 
nod Endicott stepped toward him and handed 
him the revolver. 

“Yes, just in time. I am deeply grateful to 
you.” 

“Eh?” The other’s brows drew together. 

“I say, I thank you—for the gun, and for telling 


“Ha, dat’s a’right. W’er’ Purdy?” The girl 
shuddered, as Endicott pointed to the ground at 
some little distance away. The man advanced 
and bent over the prostrate form. 

“Ba goss!” he exclaimed with a glance of admi¬ 
ration. “You shoot heem after de draw! Nom 
de Dieu! You good man wit’ de gun! W’er’ 
you hit heem?” 



The Arrest 


129 


Endicott shook his head. “I don’t know. I 
saw him, and shot, and he fell.” The half-breed 
was bending over the man on the ground. 

“You shoot heem on he’s head,” he approved, 
“dat pret’ good place.” He bent lower and a 
sibilant sound reached the ears of Endicott and 
the girl. After a moment the man stood up and 
came toward them smiling. “A’m fin’ out if 
she dead,” he explained, casually. “A’m speet 
de tobac’ juice in he’s eye. If she wink she ain’ 
dead. Purdy, she don’wink no mor’. Dat damn 
good t’ing.” 

Again Alice Marcum shuddered as Endicott 
spoke: “Can you find our horses?” he asked. 
“I must go to town and give myself up.” 

“ Oui , A’m git de hoss’ a’right. Better you 
tak’ ’em an’ skeep off. A’m git on dat posse an’ 
you bet we no ketch. * A’m lak’ you fine.” 

“No! No!” Endicott exclaimed. “If I have 
killed a man I shall stand trial for it. I won’t 
sneak away like a common murderer. I know my 
act was no crime, let the decision of the jury be 
what it may.” 

The half-breed regarded him with a puzzled 
frown. “You mean you lak’ fer git arres’?” he 
asked in surprise. 


13° 


The Texan 


“Why, of course! I—’’the other interrupted 
with a laugh. 

“A’right. Dat de kin’ Sam Moore she lak’ 
fer arres’. Sam, she layin’ back here a ways. 
She dipity sher’ff, an’ we’n we com’ on dem hoss’, 
Sam she git to t’ink ’bout he’s wife an’ kids. He 
don’ t’ink ’bout dem mooch only w’en he git 
dronk, or git scairt. Den he lov’ ’em lak’ hell, 
an* he grab de beeg belly-ache, so dey don’ got 
for feel sorry ’bout heem gittin’ keel.” 

Slipping his own gun into its holster, the half- 
breed turned and walked toward the spot where 
he had left the deputy, and as he walked he threw 
open the cylinder of the officer’s gun and removed 
the cartridges. 

“Sam!” he called sharply. Cautiously a head 
raised from behind a sage bush. “How long you 
t’ink dat tak’ you git well? Wan man he lak’ 
for git arres’ w’en you git time.” 

“Shut up! Don’t talk so loud! D’you want 
to git us killed? Which one got it?” 

“Purdy. De pilgrim shoot heem ’cause he run 
off wit’ he’s girl.” 

“Pilgrim! What pilgrim! An’what girl? Ain’t 
that Tex Benton’s horse, an’ Cinnabar Joe’s-? ” 

“Uh-huh, A’m bor’ heem Tex hoss for ketch 


The Arrest 


131 

Purdy. An’, Ba goss, he shoot heem on he’s head 
after Purdy draw’d!” 

Moore stared aghast. “What? A pilgrim 
done that? Not on yer life! He may look an’ 
act like a pilgrim but, take it from me, he’s a 
desperate character if he got Purdy after he 
draw’d. It’s worser than if it was Tex. He 
might - of took pity on us, knowin’ about the 
fambly. But a stranger, an’ one that kin git a 
man like Jack Purdy! O-o-o-o, my stummick! 
Bat, I’m ’fraid I’m a-passin’ away! These spells 
is a-killin’ me—an’ what’ll become of the woman 
an’ the kids?” 

The half-breed grinned: “Mebbe-so you kin’ 
pass back agin, Sam. He ain’ got no gun.” 

Sam Moore ceased to writhe, and sat abruptly 
erect. ' 1 Ain’t got no gun! ” he exclaimed. * 1 What 

did he shoot Purdy wdth?” 

“My gun. He giv’ it back to me. A’m bor’ 
heem dat gun li’l while ago.” 

The deputy sprang to his feet. “Quick, now, 
Bat!” he roared loudly. “You slip these irons 
on him, an’ I’ll catch up the horses. Don’t take 
no chances!” He tossed the half-breed a pair 
of hand-cuffs, and started after his own horse. 
“ Kill him if he makes a crooked move. Tell him 


132 


The Texan 


you’re actin’ under my authority an’ let him un¬ 
derstand we’re hard men to tamper with—us 
sheriffs. We don’t stand fer no foolin’.” 

In Curly Hardee’s dance-hall Tex Benton 
leaned against the wall and idly watched the 
couples weave in and out upon the floor to 
the whining accompaniment of the fiddles and 
the clanging piano. 

Apparently the cowboy’s interest centred solely 
upon the dancers, but a close observer would 
have noticed the keen glance with which he 
scanned each new arrival—noticed too, that 
after a few short puffs on a cigarette the man 
tossed it to the floor and immediately rolled 
another, which is not in the manner of a man 
with a mind at ease. 

The Texan saw Endicott enter the room, 
watched as the man’s eyes swept the faces of 
dancers and spectators, and smiled as he turned 
toward the door. 

“Three of us,” mused the cowboy, with the 
peculiar smile still twisting the comers of his lips, 
“Purdy, an’ me, an’ the pilgrim. Purdy’s work’s 
so coarse he’ll gum his own game, an’ that’s 
where I come in. An’ the pilgrim—I ain’t quite 


The Arrest 


133 


figgered how he stacks up.” The cowpuncher 
glanced at his watch. It’s time they showed up 
long ago. I wonder what’s keepin’ em.” Sud¬ 
denly he straightened himself with a jerk: “Good 
Lord! I wonder if— But no, not even Purdy 
would try that. Still, if he knows I know he tried 
to dope me he’ll be figgerin’ on pullin’ his freight 
anyhow, an’—” The man’s lips tightened and, 
elbowing his way to the door he stepped onto the 
street and hurried to the Headquarters saloon. 
Cinnabar Joe was behind the bar, apparently 
none the worse for his dose of chloral, and in 
answer to a swift signal, followed the Texan to 
the rear of the room. 

“Does Purdy know I’m wise to his dope game?” 

The bartender nodded: “Yes, I told him you 
must of switched the glasses.” 

“I saw him leadin’ your horse rigged up with 
your side-saddle acrost the flats awhile back.” 

Again the bartender nodded: “ He borrowed the 
outfit fer a gal of his’n he said come in on the 
train. Wanted to take her fer a ride.” 

“Where’d they go?” The words whipped 
viciously. 

“Search me! I’ve had my hands full to keep 
track of what’s goin’ on in here, let alone outside.” 


134 


The Texan 


Without a word the Texan stepped out the back 
door and hastened toward the horse corral behind 
the livery stable. Circling its fence to the head 
of the alley, he stared in surprise at the spot 
where he and Bat Lajune had tied their horses. 
The animals were gone, and cursing the half- 
breed at every step, he rushed to the street, and 
catching up the reins of a big roan that stood in 
a group of horses, swung into the saddle and headed 
out onto the trail. 

“Women are fools,” he muttered savagely. 
“It beats hell what even the sensible ones will 
fall for!” 

At the up-bend of the trail he halted abruptly 
and listened. From the shadows of the coulee 
ahead came the sound of voices and the soft 
scraping of horses’ feet. He drew the roan into 
a cottonwood thicket and waited. 

“Somethin’ funny here. Nobody ever come to 
a dance ridin’ at a walk,” he muttered, and then 
as the little cavalcade broke into the bright moon¬ 
light at a bend of the trail, his eyes widened with 
surprise. In front rode Bat Lajune with Purdy’s 
horse snubbed to his saddle-horn, and immediately 
following him were the girl and Endicott riding 
side by side. Tex saw that the girl was crying, 


The Arrest 


135 


and that Endicott’s hands were manacled, and 
that he rode the missing horse. Behind them 
rode Sam Moore, pompously erect, a six-shooter 
laid across the horn of his saddle, and a scowl of 
conceited importance upon his face that would 
have evoked the envy of the Kaiser of Kraut land. 
The figure appealed to the Texan’s sense of hu¬ 
mour and waiting until the deputy was exactly 
opposite his place of concealment, he filled his 
lungs and leaned forward in his saddle. 

“ Y-e-e-e-o-w!” The sound blared out like 
the shrill of doom. The officer’s six-shooter 
thudded upon the ground, his hands grasped the 
horn of the saddle, his spurs dug into his horse’s 
flanks and sent the animal crashing between the 
girl and Endicott and caused Purdy’s horse to 
tear loose from the half-breed’s saddle-horn. 

“Stand ’em off, Bat!” shrieked the deputy as 
he shot past, “I’m a-goin’ fer help!” and away he 
tore, leaning far over his horse’s neck, with Purdy’s 
horse, the stirrups lashing his sides, dashing madly 
in his wake. 

A moment later Tex pushed his mount into 
the trail where the girl, drawn close to Endicott, 
waited in fearful expectation. The half-breed 
met him with a grin. 


136 


The Texan 


Rapidly, with many ejaculations interspers¬ 
ing explosive volleys of half-intelligible words, 
Bat acquainted the Texan with the progress of 
events. The cowpuncher listened without com¬ 
ment until the other had finished. Then he 
turned to Endicott. 

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asked ab¬ 
ruptly. 

“I never learned. Until tonight I never had 
a pistol in my hand.” 

“You done damned well—to start out with,” 
commented the Texan dryly. 

“But, oh, it’s horrible!” sobbed the girl, “and 
it’s all my fault!” 

“I reckon that’s right. It looks like a bad 
mix-up all around.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me what a beast he 
was? You knew all the time. And when you 
insulted him I thought you were horrid! And 
I thought he was so noble when he refrained from 
shooting you.” 

“No. He wasn’t noble, none noticeable—• 
Purdy wasn’t. An’ as for me tellin’ you about 
him—answer me square: Would you have believed 
me?” 

The girl’s eyes fell before his steady gaze. 


The Arrest 


i 37 


“No,” she faltered, “I wouldn’t. But isn’t 
there something we can do? Some way out of 
this awful mess?” 

The Texan’s eyes flashed a glint of daring. He 
was thinking rapidly. Endicott moved his horse 
closer to the cowboy. “Can’t you manage to 
get her away—onto a train some place so she can 
avoid the annoyance of having to testify at the 
trial, and submit to the insulting remarks of your 
sheriff?” 

The girl interrupted him: “Winthrop Adams 
Endicott, if you dare to even think such a thing 
—I’ll never speak to you again! Indeed he won't 
take me away or put me on any train! I got you 
into this, and I won’t budge one inch until you 
get out of it. What do I care for a little annoy¬ 
ance—and as for the sheriff, I’ll say ‘boo’ at him 
in the dark and he’ll die.” 

There was a gleam of approval in the eyes of the 
Texan as his lips twisted into their peculiar cynical 
smile. “Spunky little devil,” he thought to 
himself. “There’s a chance to pull a play here 
somewhere that’ll make me solid with her all 
right. I got to have time to think.” Aloud he 
said: “Just you leave things to me. I’ll get a 
line on what’s what. But you both got to do as 


138 


The Texan 


I say, an* no augerin’ about it neither. It looks 
from here as if things could be straightened out 
if someone don’t go to work an’ ball the jack. 
An’ as for Sam passin’ insultin’ remarks no more 
—he won’t. Here he comes now with about half 
Wolf River for a posse.” The cowboy turned to 
Endicott: “You go ’long with ’em an’ lay low 
’til you hear from Bat, there, or me. Then you 
do as we say, an’ don’t ask no questions.” 

The rumble of horses’ feet sounded from the 
direction of the little town and the Texan whispered 
to Bat: “Find out where they lock him up. An’ 
when the excitement dies down you find me. I 
ain’t a-goin’ to lose sight of her —see.” The half- 
breed grinned his understanding and Tex swung 
his horse in close beside the girl and awaited the 
coming of the posse. 

With a yell the onrushing cowboys whom the 
deputy had recruited from the dance-hall spied 
the little group and, thundering up at full gallop, 
formed a closely packed circle about them. Re¬ 
cognizing the deputy who was vociferously urging 
his horse from the rear, Tex forced his way through 
the circle and called him aside. 

“Say, Sam,” he drawled, in a tone that caused 
the deputy’s hair to prickle at its roots; “about 


The Arrest 


i39 


some an’ sundry insultin’ remarks you passed 
agin’ the lady, yonder-” 

“No, I never-” 

“That’ll be about all the lyin’ you need to do 
now. An’ just let this sink in. You can lock 
up the pilgrim where you damn please. But the 
lady goes to the hotel. If you aim to hold her as 
a witness you can appoint a guard—an’ I’m the 
guard. D’you get me? ’Cause if there’s any 
misunderstandin’ lingerin’ in them scrambled 
aigs you use fer brains, I’ll just start out by tellin’ 
the boys what a hell of a brave arrest you pulled 
off, an’ about the nervy stand you made agin’ 
odds to guard your prisoners when I yipped at 
you from the brush. Then, after they get through 
havin’ their fun out of you, I’ll just waste a shell 
on you for luck—see?” 

“Sure, Tex, that sounds reasonable,” the other 
rattled on in evident relief. “Fact is, I be’n 
huntin’ fer you ever sense I suspicioned they’d 
be’n a murder. * If I c’d only find Tex, ’ I says to 
myself, I says, ‘he’d be worth a hull posse hisself.’ 
Jest you go ahead an’ night-herd the lady. I’ll 
tell her myself so’s it’ll be official. An’ me an’ 
the rest of the boys here, we’ll take care of the 
pilgrim, which he ain’t no pilgrim at all, but a 


140 


The Texan' 


desperate desperado, or he couldn’t never have 
got Jack Purdy the way he done.” 

The Texan grinned and, forcing his horse 
through the crowd, reached the girl’s side where 
he was joined a few moments later by the deputy. 
Despite her embarrassing situation Alice Marcum 
could scarce restrain a smile at the officer’s sudden 
obsequious deference. Stetson in hand, he bowed 
awkwardly. “ Excuse me, mom, but, as I was 
goin’ on to say in reference of any remarks I 
might of passed previous, I found out subsequent 
I didn’t mean what I was sayin’, which I mis¬ 
understood myself complete. But as I was goin’ 
on to say, mom, the State of Montany might 
need you fer a witness in this here felonious trial, 
so if you’ll be so kind an’ go to the hotel along of 
Tex here whom he’s the party I’ve tolled off fer 
to guard you, an’ don’t stand no monkey business 
neither. What I mean is,” he hastened to add, 
catching a glance from the Texan’s eye, “ don’t 
be afraid to ask fer soap or towels if there hain’t 
none in yer room, an’ if yer cold holler fer an 
extry blanket er two. The State’s a-payin’ fer 
it, an’ yer board, too, an’ if they don’t fill you up 
every meal you set up a yell an’ I’ll see ’t they 
do.” The deputy turned abruptly away and 


The Arrest 


141 

addressed the cowboys: “Come on, boys, let’s 
git this character under lock an’ key so I kin 
breathe easier.” 

Even Endicott joined in the laugh that greeted 
the man’s words and, detaining a cowpuncher to 
ride on either side of the prisoner, the officer 
solemnly led the way toward town. 


CHAPTER VIII 

ONE WAY OUT 

As the horses traversed the two miles of wind¬ 
ing trail, Alice Marcum glanced from time to 
time at the Texan who rode silently at her side. 
The man's face was grave and he seemed entirely 
oblivious to her presence. Only once did she 
venture to speak to him. 

“I suppose I ought to thank you, Mr.-” 

“Tex’ll do,” supplied the man, without even 
the courtesy of a glance. 

“— for the very changed attitude of the sheriff, 
and for the fact that I am to be lodged in the 
hotel instead of the jail.” 

The girl thought the Texan’s lips drew into 
their peculiar smile, but he gave no further evi¬ 
dence of having heard and rode on in silence, 
with his attention apparently fixed upon the tips 
of his horse’s ears. At the edge of town the crowd, 
with Endicott in its midst, swerved toward the 


142 


One Way Out 


i 43 


railroad and the girl found herself alone with her 
jailer. She drew up her horse sharply and glanced 
back toward the prisoner. 

“This way,” said a voice close beside her; 
“we’ll go to the hotel. I guess there’s enough 
of ’em to see that the pilgrim gets locked up 
safe.” 

“But I—I want to speak to him. To tell him 

_ »» 

“Never mind what you want to tell him. It’ll 
keep, I reckon.” 

At the door of the wooden hotel the cowpuncher 
swung from his horse. “You wait here a minute; 
I’ll go fetch Jennie. She’s prob’ly over to the 
dance. She’ll fix you up with a room an’ see 
that you get what you want.” 

“But my bag?” 

“ Yer what?” 

“My bag—with all my things in it. I left it 
in the car.” 

“Oh, yer war-bag! All right, I’ll get that after 
I’ve got Jennie cut out an’ headed this way.” 

He stepped into the dance-hall next door and 
motioned to a plump, round-faced girl who was 
dancing with a young cowboy. At the conclusion 
of the dance the girl laughingly refused to accom- 


144 


The Texan 


pany her partner to the bar, and made her way 
toward the Texan. 

“Say, Jennie,” the man said, after drawing her 
aside; “there’s a girl over to the hotel and I want 
you to go over an’ fix her up with a room. Give 
her Number n. It’s handy to the side door.” 

The girl’s nose went up and the laughing eyes 
flashed scornfully. “No, you don’t, Tex Benton! 
What do you think I am? An’ what’s more, you 
don’t pull nothin’ like that around there. That 
hotel’s run decent, an’ it’s goin’ to stay decent 
or Hank can get someone else fer help. They’s 
some several of the boys has tried it sence I be’n 
there but they never tried it but onct. An ’ that 
goes ! ’ ’ The girl turned away with a contemptuous 
sniff. 

“Jennie!” The Texan was smiling. “This 
is a little different case, I reckon.” 

“They’re all different cases,” she retorted. 
“But everything’s be’n tried from a sister come 
on a unexpected visit, to slippin’ me five—Cinnabar 
Joe tended to that one’s case hisself, an’ he done 
a good job, too. So you might’s well save yer 
wind ’cause there ain’t nothin’ you can think up 
to say that’ll fool me a little bit. I ain’t worked 
around hotels fer it’s goin’ on six years fer nothin’. 


One Way Out 


H5 


an’ I wouldn't trust no man—cowboys an’ drum¬ 
mers least of all.” 

“Listen, Jennie, I ain’t tryin’ to tell you I 
wouldn’t. Only this time, I ain’t. If I was, don’t 
you suppose I’ve got sense enough not to go to 
you to help me with it?” The girl waited with 
all outward appearance of skepticism for him to 
proceed. “This girl went ridin’ with Jack Purdy 
—he borrowed the side-saddle from Cinnabar ” 

“Did Cinnabar loan him that saddle fer any 
such-?” 

“Hold on, now, Cinnabar don’t know nothin’ 
about it. Purdy wants to borrow his side-saddle 
an’ Joe says sure.” 

“He might of know’d if Purdy wanted it, it 
wasn’t fer no good. You’re all bad enough, 
goodness knows, but he was the worst of the lot. 
I hate Purdy an’ you bet he cuts a big circle when 
he sees me cornin’.” 

“Well, he won’t no more,” answered the Texan 
dryly. “Purdy’s dead.” 

“Dead!” 

“Yes. He took a pilgrim’s girl out on the 
bench an’ the pilgrim got wise to it an’ dug out 
after ’em. Got there just in time an’ took a shot 
at Purdy an’ got him.” 


10 




146 


The Texan 


'‘Land sakes! I’m glad he did! If they was 
a few more pilgrims like him that would get about 
half the rest of you, maybe the others would turn 
decent, or take to the brush.” 

The Texan laughed. “Anyway Purdy’s dead, 
an’ they’ve got the pilgrim locked up, an’ the 
girl’s held fer a witness, an’ I told Sam Moore 
I’d take a shot at him if he locked her up wherever 
he’s goin’ to lock up the pilgrim—in the wool- 
warehouse I reckon. Anyhow, he told her to go 
to the hotel an’ specified me fer a guard.” 

“Oh, he did, did he? Well jest you wait ’til 
I get my hat. I guess maybe she’ll be safer 
with two guards.” With a meaning look the girl 
hurried away and a moment later returned and 
followed the Texan from the room. 

“Why was you so anxious she was to have 
Number 11, if what you’ve told me is on the level?” 
she asked, as they approached the hotel. 

“I don’t know, yet, exactly. But I’ve got a 
hunch they’ll be somethin’ doin’ a little later.” 

“Uh-huh, an’ I’ll be right there when it’s doin’, 
too. An’ you can bet your last blue one on that! ” 

Alice Marcum swung unassisted to the ground 
as the two approached. And as she glanced into 
the wide, friendly eyes of the girl she felt deeply 


One Way Out 


H7 


grateful to the Texan for bringing a woman. 
Then the woman was speaking: “Come right 
along in the house. I’m Jennie Dodds, an’ I’ll 
see’t you get settled comfortable. Tex, he told 
me all about it. Land sakes! I bet you feel 
proud! Who’d a thought any pilgrim could a 
got Jack Purdy! Where’s your grip?” 

“Gosh! I plumb forgot!” exclaimed the cow¬ 
boy, and started for his horse. “I’ll be back with 
yer war-bag in a minute.” A few moments later, 
he returned to the hotel carrying a leather bag. 

“I’m goin’ to kind of slip around among the 
boys a bit. I’ve be’n doin’ some thinkin’ an 
maybe we can figger a way out. I don’t quite 
like the way things is shapin’ up. I’ll be wantin’ 
most likely to see you in a while-” 

“We’ll both be here,” interrupted Jennie. 
“Bothoius. We’ll be in Number 11.” 

Outside the hotel the Texan paused to roll and 
light a cigarette, and as he blew the smoke from his 
lungs, he smiled cynically. 

“Purdy’s work was so damn coarse he got just 
what was cornin’ to him. There’s only me an’ 
the pilgrim, now—an’ it’s me an’ him for it. I 
ain’t plumb got the girl sized up yet. If she’s 
straight—all right. She’ll stay straight. If she 



148 


The Texan 


ain’t— They say everything’s fair in love an’ war, 
an’ bein’ as it’s my deal the pilgrim’s got to go up 
against a stacked deck. An’ if things works out 
right, believe me, he’s a-goin’ to know he’s be’n 
somewhere by the time he gets back—if he ever 
does get back.” 

For the third time that evening he entered the 
dance-hall and avoiding the dancers made his 
way leisurely toward the bar that ran along one 
side of the room. 

“Hello, Tex, ain’t dancin’? Say, they’re tellin’ 
how a pilgrim killed Jack Purdy. Yes, an’ they 
got him locked up down in the wool-warehouse. 
What’s yourn?” The cowboy ranged himself be¬ 
side the Texan. 

“A little red liquor, I reckon.” The men poured 
their drinks and the Texan glanced toward the 
other: “You ain’t mournin’ none over Purdy, 
Curly?” • 

“Who, me?” the man laughed. “Not what 
you c’d notice, I ain’t. An’ they’s plenty others 
ain’t, too. I don’t hear no lamentatious wailin’ 
a-bustin’ in on the festchivities. It was over the 
pilgrim’s girl. They say how Purdy tried to-” 

“Yes, he did. But the pilgrim got there first. 
I been thinkin’, Curly. It’s plumb shameful 



One Way Out 


149 


for to hold the pilgrim for doin’ what one of ua 
would of had to do sooner or later. Choteau 
County has stood for him about as long as it 
could, an’ a damn sight longer than it ought to. 
His work was gettin’ so rotten it stunk. I could 
tell you about a sage-brush corral an’ some 
runnin’-iron work over on the south slope-” 

“Yes,” broke in the other, “an’ there’s a hell 
of a lot of I X an’ Bear Paw Pool cows that show’d 
up, brandin’ time, ’thout no calves.” 

The Texan nodded: “Exactly. Now, what I 
was goin’ on to say: The grand jury don’t set 
for a couple or three months yet. An’ when they 
do, they’ll turn the pilgrim loose so quick it’ll 
make yer head swim. Then, there’s the girl. 
They’ll hold her for a witness—not that they’d 
have to, ’cause she’ll stay on her own hook. Now 
what’s the use of them bein’ took down to Benton 
an’ stuck in jail? Drink up, an’ have another.” 

“Not none,” agreed Curly, as he measured out 
his liquor to an imaginary line half-way up the 
glass. “But how’d you figger to fix it?” 

“Well,” answered the Texan, as his lips twisted 
into their peculiar smile; “we might get the right 
bunch together an’ go down to the wool-warehouse 
an’ save the grand jury the trouble.” 



150 


The Texan 


The other stared at him in amazement: “You 
mean bust him out?” 

Tex laughed: “Sure. Lord! Won't it be fun 
seein’ Sam Moore puttin' up a scrap to save his 
prisoner?” 

“But, how’d we git away with him? All Sam 
w’d do is git a posse an' take out after him an' 
they’d round him up 'fore he got to Three-mile. 
Or if we went along we’d git further but they’d 
git us in the end an' then we’d be in a hell of a 
fix!” 

“Your head don’t hurt you none, workin’ it 
that way, does it ? ” grinned Tex. “I done thought 
it all out. We’ll get the boys an’ slip down to the 
warehouse an’ take the pilgrim out an’ slip a 
noose around his neck an’ set him on a horse an’ 
ride out of town a-cussin’ him an’ a-swearin’ to 
lynch him. He won’t know but what we aim to 
iiang him to the first likely cottonwood, an’ we’ll 
have a lot of fun with him. An’ no one else won’t 
know it, neither. Then you-all ride back an’ 
pertend to keep mum, but leak it out that we done 
hung him. They won’t be no posse hunt for him 
then an’ I’ll take him an’ slip him acrost to the 
N. P. or the C. P. R. an’ let him go. It’s too 
good a chanct to miss. Lordy! Won’t the pilgrim 


One Way Out 


151 

beg! An’ Sam Moore—he’ll be scairt out of a 
year’s growth!” 

“But, the girl,” objected Curly. 

“Oh, the girl—well, they’ll turn ner loose, of 
course. They ain’t nothin’ on her except for a 
witness. An’ if they ain’t no prisoner they won’t 
need no witness, will they?” 

“That’s right,” assented the other. “By gosh, 
Tex, what you can’t think up, the devil wouldn’t 
bother with. That’s sure some stunt. Let’s 
get the boys an’ go to it!” 

“You get the boys together. Get about twenty 
of the live ones an’ head ’em over to the Head¬ 
quarters. I’ll go hunt up a horse for the pilgrim 
an’ be over there in half an hour.” 

Curly passed from man to man, whom he singled 
out from among the dancers and onlookers, and 
the Texan slipped unobserved through the door 
and proceeded directly to the hotel. On the 
street he met Bat. 

“De pilgrim, she lock up in de woolhouse an’ 
Sam Moore she stan’ ’long de door wit two revolver 
an’ wan big rifle.” 

“All right, Bat. You look alive now, an’ catch 
up Purdy’s horse an’ see that you get a good set 
of bridle reins on him, an’ find the girl’s horse an’ 


152 


The Texan 


get holt of a pack-horse somewheres an’ get your 
war-bag an’ mine an’ our blankets onto him, an’ 
go down to the store an’ get a couple more pairs 
of blankets, an’ grub enough fer a week for four, 
an’ get that onto him, an’ have all them horses 
around to the side door of the hotel in twenty 
minutes, or I’ll bust you wide open an’ fill your 
hide with prickly pears.” 

The half-breed nodded his understanding and 
slipped onto his horse as the Texan entered the 
hotel. Passing through the office where a coal- 
oil lamp burned dimly in a wall-bracket, he 
stepped into the narrow hallway and paused with 
his eyes on the bar of yellow light that showed at 
the bottom of the door of Number n. 

“Most any fool thing would do to tell the girl. 
But I’ve got to make it some plausible to put it 
acrost on Jennie. I’m afraid I kind of over¬ 
played my hand a little when I let her in on this, 
but—damn it! I felt kind of sorry for the girl 
even if it was her own fool fault get tin’ into this 
jack-pot. I thought maybe a woman could kind 
of knock off the rough edges a little. Well, here 
goes!” He knocked sharply, and it was a very 
grave-faced cowboy who stepped into the room 
and closed the door behind him. “I’ve be’n 


One Way Out 


153 


doin’ quite some feelin’ out of the public pulse, 
as the feller says, an’ the way things looks from 
here, the pilgrim is sure in bad. You see, the jury 
is bound to be made up of cow-men an’ ranchers 
with a sheep-man or two mixed in. An’ they’re 
all denizens that Choteau County is infested 
with. Now a stranger cornin’ in that way an’ 
kind of pickin’ one of us off, casual, like a tick off’n 
a dog’s ear, it won’t be looked on with favour-” 

Jennie interrupted, with a belligerent forefinger 
wagging almost against the Texan’s nose: “But 
that Jack Purdy needed killin’ if ever any one did. 
He was loose an’-” 

“Yes,” broke in Tex, “he was. I ain’t here to 
pronounce no benediction of blessedness on Purdy’s 
remains. But, you got to recollect that most of 
the jury, picked out at random, is in the same 
boat—loose, an’ needin’ killin’, which they know 
as well as you an’ me do, an’ consequent ain’t 
a-goin’ to establish no oncomfortable precedent. 
Suppose any pilgrim was’allowed to step off’n a 
train any time he happened to be cornin’ through, 
an’ pick off a loose one? What would Choteau 
County’s or any other county’s he-population 
look like in a year’s time, eh? It would look like 
the hair-brush out here in the wash-room, an’ 


154 


The Texan 


you could send in the votin’ list on a cigarette 
paper. No, sir, the pilgrim ain’t got a show if he’s 
got to face a jury. There’s only one way out, 
an’ there’s about fifteen or twenty of the boys 
that’s willin’ to give him a chance. We’re a-goin’ 
to bust him out of jail an’ put him on a horse an’ 
run him up some cottonwood coulee with a rope 
around his neck.” 

Alice Marcum, who had followed every word, 
turned chalk-white in the lamplight as she stared 
wide-eyed at the Texan, with fingers pressed 
tight against her lips, while Jennie placed herself 
protectingly between them and launched into a 
perfect tirade. 

“Hold on, now.” Both girls saw that the man 
was smiling and Jennie relapsed into a warlike 
silence. “A rope necktie ain’t a-goin’ to hurt no 
one as long as he keeps his heft off’n it. As I was 
goin’ on to say, we’ll run him up this coulee an’ 
a while later the boys’ll ride back to town in the 
same semmey-serious mood that accompanies 
such similar enterprises. They won’t do no talkin’ 
an’ they won’t need to. Folks will naturally know 
that justice has be’n properly dispensed with, an’ 
that their taxes won’t raise none owin’ to county 
funds bein’ misdirected in prosecutin’a public bene- 


One Way Out 


155 


factor—an* they’ll be satisfied. The preacher’ll 
preach a long sermon condemnin’ the takin’ of 
human life without due process of law, an’ the 
next Sunday he’ll preach another one about the 
onchristian shootin’ of folks without givin’ ’em 
a chanct to repent—after they’d drawed—an’ he’ll 
use the lynchin’ as a specimen of the workin’s of 
the hand of the Lord in bringin’ speedy justice 
onto the murderer. 

“But they ain’t be’n no lynchin’ done. ’Cause 
the boys will turn the prisoner over to me an’ I’ll 
hustle him acrost to the N. P. an’ let him get out 
of the country.” 

Alice Marcum leaped to her feet: “Oh, are you 
telling me the truth? How do I know you’re not 
going to lynch him? I told him I’d stay with 
him and see him through!” 

The Texan regarded her gravely: “You can,” 
he said after a moment of silence. “ I’ll have Bat 
take you to Snake Creek crossin’, an’ you can 
wait there ’til I come along with the pilgrim. 
Then we’ll cut through the mountains an’ hit 
down through the bad lands an’-” 

“No you don’t, Tex Benton!” Jennie was 
facing him again. “You’re a smooth one all 
right. How long would it take you to lose the 


The Texan 


156 

pilgr im there in the bad lands, even if you don’t 
lynch him, which it ain’t no cinch you ain’t a-goin’ 
to—then where would she be? No, sir, you don’t 
pull nothin’ like that pff on me!” 

“But I want to go!” cried Alice. “I want to 
be near him, and I’m not afraid.” 

The girl regarded her for a moment in silence. 
“I should think you’d had enough of cowpunchers 
for one night. But if you’re bound to go I ain’t 
got no right to hold you. I’d go along with you 
if I could, but I can’t.” 

“I’m not afraid,” she answered as her eyes 
sought the Texan’s. “I’ve learned a lot in the 
past few hours.” 

“I guess you ain’t learnt enough to hurt you 
none,” retorted Jennie, with a trace of acid in her 
tone. “An’ you’ll learn a lot more ’fore you hit 
the N. P., or my name ain’t Jennie Dodds. If 
you’re bound to go you can take my outfit. I 
guess Tex’ll see that my horse comes back, 
anyhow.” 

The cowpuncher grinned: “Thanks, Jennie. 
I’m right proud to know you think I wouldn’t 
steal your horse.” Once more he turned to the 
girl. “When the half-breed comes for you, you 
go with him. I’ve got to go on with the boys, 


One Way Out 


i57 


now.” Abruptly he left the room, and once more 
paused in the hall before passing through the 
office. “She’s game, all right. An’ the way she 

can look at a fellow out of those eyes of hers- 

By God! Purdy ought to be’n killed!” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE PILGRIM 

A group of saddle-horses stood before the 
Headquarters saloon, and as the Texan entered 
he was vociferously greeted by the twenty cow¬ 
boys who crowded the bar. 

“Come on, Tex, drink up!” 

“Hell’ll be a-poppin’ down to the wool-ware¬ 
house.” 

“An’, time we get there we won’t be able to see 
Sam Moore fer dust.” Curly raised his glass 
and the cowpunchers joined in uproarious song: 

“We’ll string him up to a cottonwood limb 
An' dig his grave in under him, 

We’ll tromp down the clods, an’ we won’t give a damn 
’Cause he’ll never kill another cow-man, 

Ah wi yi yippie i o-o-o-!” 


Without a break the Texan picked up the refrain, 
improvising words to fit the occasion: 

158 


The Pilgrim 


159 


“The sheriff’s name, it’s old Sam Moore, 

He’s standin’ down by the jail-house door 
With seventeen knives an’ a gatlin’ gun, 
But you bet your boots we’ll make him run 
Ah wi yi yippie i 0-0-0-! ” 


With whoops of approbation and a deafening 
chorus of yowls and catcalls, the cowpunchers 
crowded through the door. A moment later the 
bar-room was deserted and out in the street the 
night air resounded with the sound of snorting, 
trampling horses, the metallic jangle of spurs and 
bit chains, the creak of saddle-leather, and the 
terse, quick-worded observations of men mount¬ 
ing in the midst of the confusion of refractory 
horses. 

“The sheriff’s name, it’s old Sam Moore!” 
roared a cowboy as he slammed into the saddle 
of a skew-ball black. 

“Go git him!” howled another in exact imita¬ 
tion of Slim Maloney. 

There was a thunder of hoofs as the whole 
crowd, headed by Tex and Curly swept down the 
street and across the flat toward the impromptu 
jail. 

With a lighted lantern beside him, Sam Moore 
sat upon the strongly built unloading platform 


The ^Texan 


160 

before the warehouse door, access to which was 
gained by means of a flight of six or eight plank 
steps at either end. Up these steps rode a couple 
of cowpunchers while the rest drew up sharply 
at the very edge of the platform. Hemmed in 
upon all sides the valiant deputy glanced fearfully 
into the faces of the horsemen. “Wha—What’s 
up, boys? What’s ailin’ ye?” he managed to 
blurt out. 

“Drop them guns an’ give over the key!” 
commanded someone. 

“Sure—sure, boys! I hain’t aimin’ to hurt no 
one. Yer all friends of mine an’ what you say 
goes with me.” 

“Friends of youm!” roared someone men¬ 
acingly; “you’re a liar, Sam! You ain’t never seen 
nary one of us before! Git that!” 

“Sure, sure thing, boys, I don’t know who ye 
be. ’Tain’t none of my business. I couldn’t 
name none of you. You don’t need to be scairt 
of me.” 

“You beat it, then, an’ lose yerself an’ don’t 
yer go stirrin’ up no rookus over to the dance, 
er we’ll dangle you a little, too.” 

“Sure. I’m a-goin’ now. I-” 

“Fork over that key first!” 



The Pilgrim 


161 


“Sure, Tex! Here it is-” 

“ Sure who /” rasped a voice close to the sheriff’s 
ear. 

“I mean—I said— Here’s the doggone key! 
I was thinkin’ of a feller I know’d down to 
Wyomin’. Tex—Tex—Smith, er some such of a 
name it was. I mistrusted you was him, an’ 
mebbe you be fer all I know. I don’t savvy 
none of you whatever.” 

“Get a move on, Sam!” 

“Me! I’m gone! An’ you boys remember 
when ’lection time comes, to vote fer a sheriff 
that’s got degression an’ common sense.” And 
with ludicrous alacrity, the deputy scrambled 
from the platform and disappeared into the deep 
blackness of the lumber-yard. 

The Texan fitted the key into the huge padlock 
and a moment later the door swung open and a 
dozen cowpunchers swarmed in. 

“Come on, pilgrim, an’ try on yer necktie!” 

“We’ll prob’ly have to haul down all them wool¬ 
sacks an’ drag him out from behind ’em.” 

“I think not. If I am the man you want I 
think you will find me perfectly able to walk.” 
The pilgrim stood leaning against one of the 
wooden supporting posts, and as a cowboy thrust 


ii 


162 


The Texan 


the lantern into his face he noted the eyes never 
faltered. 

“Come along with us!” commanded the pun¬ 
cher, gruffly, as another stepped up and slipped 
the noose of a lariat-rope over his head. 

“So I am to be lynched, am I?” asked the pil¬ 
grim in a matter-of-fact tone, as with a cowboy 
on either side he was hurried across the platform 
and onto a horse. 

“This ain’t no time to talk,” growled another. 
“We’ll give you a chanct to empty yer chest 
’fore we string you up.” 

In the moonlight the prisoner’s face showed 
very pale, but the cow-men saw that his lips 
were firmly set, and the hands that caught up 
the bridle reins did not falter. As the caval¬ 
cade started out upon the trail the Texan turned 
back, and riding swiftly to the hotel, found Bat 
waiting. 

“You go in to Number 11 and tell the girl you’re 
ready to start.” 

“You’m mean de pilgrim’s girl?” 

The Texan frowned and swore under his breath: 
“ She ain’t the pilgrim’s girl, yet—by a damn sight! 
You take her an’ the pack horse an’ hit down the 
river an’ cut up through old man Lee’s horse 


The Pilgrim 


163 

ranch onto the bench. Then hit for Snake Creek 
crossin’ an’ wait for me.” 

The half-breed nodded, and the Texan’s frown 
deepened as he leaned closer. “An’ you see that 
you get her through safe an’ sound or I’ll cut off 
them ears of yours an’ stake you out in a rattle¬ 
snake den to think it over.” The man grinned 
and the frown faded from the Texan’s face. “You 
got to do me a good turn, Bat. Remember them 
four bits in Las Vegas!” 

' ‘ A’m tak’ de girl to Snake Creek crossin’ a’right; 
you’m don’ need for be ’fraid for dat.” 

The cowpuncher whirled and spurred his horse 
to overtake the cowboys who, with the prisoner 
in charge, were already well out upon the trail. 

In front of the hotel the half-breed watched the 
flying horseman until he disappeared from sight. 

“A’m wonder if dat girl be safe wit’ him, lak’ 
she is wit’ me— lien. A’m t’ink mebbe-so dat 
damn good t’ing ol’ Bat goin’ long. If she damn 
fine girl mebbe-so Tex, he goin’ mar’ her. Dat 
be good t’ing. But, by Gar! if he don’ mar’ her, 
he gon’ leave her ’lone. Me—A’m lak’ dat Tex 
fine, lak’ me own brudder. He got de good heart. 
But w’en he drink de hooch, den A’m got for look 
after him. He don’ care wan damn ’bout nuttin’. 


164 


The Texan 


Dat four bit in Las Vegas, dats a’right. A’m 
t’ink ’bout dat, too. But, by Gar, it tak’ more’n 
four bit in Las Vegas for mak’ ol’ Bat let dat girl 
git harm.” 

An atmosphere of depression pervaded the 
group of riders as they wound in and out of the 
cottonwood clumps and threaded the deep coulee 
that led to the bench. For the most part they pre¬ 
served an owlish silence, but now and then some¬ 
one would break into a low, weird refrain and the 
others would join in with the mournful strain of 
“The Dying Cowboy.” 

“ Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e, 

Where the coyote howls and the wind blows free. ” 

Or the dirge-like wail of the “Cowboy’s La¬ 
ment”: 

“ Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs 
lowly, 

And give a wild whoop as you carry me along: 

And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o’er 
me, 

For I’m only a cowboy that knows he’s done 
wrong.” 

“Shall we take him to Lone Tree Coulee?” 
asked one. Another answered disdainfully. 


The Pilgrim 


165 

“Don’t you know the lone tree’s dead? Jest 
shrivelled up an' died after Bill Atwood was hung 
onto it. Some augers he worn’t guilty. But it’s 
better to play safe, an’ string up all the doubtful 
ones, then yer bound to git the right one onct in 
a while.” 

“Swing over into Buffalo Coulee,” commanded 
Tex. “There’s a bunch of cottonwoods just 
above Hansen’s old sheep ranch.” 

“ We’ll string him up to a cottonwood limb 
An’ dig his grave in under him-” 

“Shut up!” ordered Curly, favouring the singer 
with a scowl. “Any one would think you was 
joyous-minded, which this here hangin’ a man is 
plumb serious business, even if it hain’t only a 
pilgrim!” 

He edged his horse in beside the Texan’s. “He 
don’t seem tore up with terror, none. D’you 
think he’s onto the racket?” 

Tex shook his head, and with his eyes on the 
face of the prisoner which showed very white in 
the moonlight, rode on in silence. 

“You mean you think he’s jest nach’ly got guts 
—an’ him a pilgrim?” 


The Texan 


166 

“How the hell do I know what he’s got?” 
snapped the other. “Can’t you wait till we get 
to Buffalo?” 

Curly allowed his horse to fall back a few paces. 
“First time I ever know’d Tex to pack a grouch,” 
he mused, as his lips drew into a grin. “He’s 
sore ’cause the pilgrim hain’t a-snifflin’ an’ a- 
carryin’-on an’ tryin’ to beg off. Gosh! If he turns 
out to be a reg’lar hand, an’ steps up an’ takes his 
medicine like a man, the joke’ll be on Tex. The 
boys never will quit joshin’ him—an’ he knows it. 
No wonder he’s sore.” 

The cowboys rode straight across the bench. 
Song and conversation had ceased and the only 
sounds were the low clink of bit chains and the 
soft rustle of horses’ feet in the buffalo grass. At 
the end of an hour the leaders swung into an old 
grass-grown trail that led by devious windings 
into a deep, steep-sided coulee along the bottom 
of which ran the bed of a dried-up creek. Water 
from recent rains stood in brackish pools. Rem¬ 
nants of fence with rotted posts sagging from rusty 
wire paralleled their course. A dilapidated cross¬ 
fence barred their way, and without dismounting, 
a cowboy loosened the wire gate and threw it 
aside. 


The Pilgrim 


167 


A deserted log-house, windowless, with one 
comer rotted away, and the sod roof long since 
tumbled in, stood upon a treeless bend of the dry 
creek. Abandoned implements littered the door- 
yard; a rusted hay rake with one wheel gone, a 
broken mower with cutter-bar drunkenly erect, 
and the front trucks of a dilapidated wagon. 

The Texan’s eyes rested sombrely upon the rem¬ 
nant of a rocking-horse, still hitched by bits of 
weather-hardened leather to a child’s wheel¬ 
barrow whose broken wheel had once been the 
bottom of a wooden pail—and he swore, softly. 

Up the creek he could see the cottonwood 
grove just bursting into leaf and as they rounded 
the comer of a long, sheep-shed, whose soggy 
straw roof sagged to the ground, a coyote, dis¬ 
turbed in his prowling among the whitening bones 
of dead sheep, slunk out of sight in a weed-patch. 

Entering the grove, the men halted at a point 
where the branches of three large trees interlaced. 
It was darker, here. The moonlight filtered 
through in tiny patches which brought out the 
faces of the men with grotesque distinctness and 
plunged them again into blackness. 

Gravely the Texan edged his horse to the side 
of the pilgrim. 


The Texan 


168 

“Get off!” he ordered tersely, and Enaicott 
dismounted. 

“Tie his hands!” A cowboy caught the man’s 
hands behind him and secured them with a lariat- 
rope. 

The Texan unknotted the silk muffler from 
about his neck and folded it. 

“If it is just the same to you,” the pilgrim 
asked, in a voice that held firm, “will you leave 
that off?” 

Without a word the muffler was returned to its 
place. 

“Throw the rope over that limb—the big one 
that sticks out this way,” ordered the Texan, and 
a cowpuncher complied. 

“The knot had ort to come in under his left 
ear,” suggested one, and proceeded to twist the 
noose into place. 

“All ready!” 

A dozen hands grasped the end of the rope. 

The Texan surveyed the details critically: 
11 This here is a disagreeable job, ” he said. * 1 Have 

you got anything to say?” 

Endicott took a step forward, and as he faced 
the Texan his eyes flashed. “Have I got anything 
to say!” he sneered. “Would you have anything 


The Pilgrim 


169 


to say if a bunch of half-drunken fools decided to 
take the law into their own hands and hang you 
for defending a woman against the brutal attack 
of a fiend?” He paused and wrenched to free 
his hands but the rope held firm. “ It was a wise 
precaution you took when you ordered my hands 
tied—a precaution that fits in well with this 
whole damned cowardly proceeding. And now 
you ask me if I have anything to say!” He 
glanced into the faces of the cowboys who seemed 
to be enjoying the situation hugely. 

“I’ve got this to say—to you, and to your 
whole bunch of grinning hyenas: If you expect 
me to do any begging or whimpering, you are in 
for a big disappointment. There is one request 
I am going to make—and that you won’t grant. 
Just untie my hands for ten minutes and stand up 
to me bare-fisted. I want one chance before I 
go, to fight you, or any of you, or all of you! Or, 
if you are afraid to fight that way, give me a 
pistol—I never fired one until tonight—and let 
me shoot it out with you. Surely men who 
swagger around with pistols in their belts, and 
pride themselves on the use of them, ought not to 
be afraid to take a chance against a man who has 
never but once fired one!” There was an awk- 


170 


The Texan 


ward pause and the pilgrim laughed harshly: 
“There isn’t an ounce of sporting blood among 
you! You hunt in packs like the wolves you are 
—twenty to one—and that one with a rope around 
his neck and his hands tied!” 

“The odds is a little against you,” drawled the 
Texan. “Where might you hail from?” 

“From a place where they breed men—not 
curs.” 

“Ain’t you afraid to die?” 

“Just order your hounds to jerk on that rope 
and I’ll show you whether or not I am afraid to 
die. But let me tell you this, you damned mur¬ 
derer! If any harm comes to that girl—to Miss 
Marcum—may the curse of God follow every last 
one of you till you are damned in a fiery hell! 
You will kill me now, but you won’t be rid of me. 
I’ll haunt you every one to your graves. I will 
follow you night and day till your brains snap and 
you go howling to hell like maniacs.” 

Several of the cowboys shuddered and turned 
away. Very deliberately the Texan rolled a 
cigarette. 

“There is a box in my coat pocket, will you 
hand me one? Or is it against the rules to smoke?” 
Without a word the Texan complied, and as he 


The Pilgrim 


171 

held a match to the cigarette he stared straight 
into the man’s eyes: “You’ve started out good,” 
he remarked gravely. “ I’m just wonderin’ if you 
can play your string out.” With which enigmati¬ 
cal remark he turned to the cowboys: “The drinks 
are on me, boys. Jerk off that rope, an’ go back 
to town! An’ remember, this lynchin’ come off 
as per schedule.” 

Alone in the cottonwood grove, with little 
patches of moonlight filtering through onto the 
new-sprung grass, the two men faced each other. 
Without a word the cowboy freed the prisoner’s 
hands. 

“Viewin’ it through a lariat-loop, that way, the 
country looks better to a man than what it really 
is,” he observed, as the other stretched his arms 
above his head. 

“What is the meaning of all this? The lynch¬ 
ing would have been an atrocious injustice, but 
if you did not intend to hang me why should you 
have taken the trouble to bring me out here?” 

“ ’Twasn’t no trouble at all. The main thing was 
to get you out of Wolf River. The lynchin’ part 
was only a joke, an’ that’s on us. You bein’ a 
pilgrim, that way, we kind of thought-” 

“A what?” 


172 


The Texan 


“A pilgrim, or tenderfoot, or greener or che- 
chako, or counter-jumper, owin’ to what part of 
the country you misfit into. We thought you 
wouldn’t have no guts, an’ we’d-” 

“Any what?” 

The Texan regarded the other hopelessly. “Oh 
hell!” he muttered disgustedly. “Can’t you 
talk no English? Where was you raised?” 

The other laughed. “ Go on, I will try to follow 
you.” 

“I can’t chop ’em up no finer than one syllable. 
But I’ll shorten up the dose sufficient for your 
understandin’ to grasp. It’s this way: D’you 
know what a frame-up is?” 

Endicott nodded. 

“Well, Choteau County politics is in such a 
condition of on wee that a hangin’ would be a 
reg’lar tonic for the party that’s in; which it’s 
kind of bogged down into an old maid’s tea party. 
Felonious takin’s-ofl has be’n common enough, 
but there hasn’t no hangin’s resulted, for the 
reason that in every case the hangee has got 
friends or relations of votin’ influence. Now, 
along comes you without no votin’ connections 
an’ picks off Purdy, which he’s classed amongst 
human bein’s, an’ is therefore felonious to kill. 


The Pilgrim 


173 


There ain’t nothin’ to it. They’d be poundin’ 
away on the scaffold an’ testin’ the rope while the 
trial was goin’ on. Besides which you’d have to 
linger in a crummy jail for a couple of months 
waitin’ for the grand jury to set on you. A few 
of us boys seen how things was framed an’ we 
took the liberty to turn you loose, not because we 
cared a damn about you, but we’d hate to see 
even a snake hung fer killin’ Purdy which his 
folks done a wrong to humanity by raisin’ him. 

“The way the thing is now, if the boys plays 
the game accordin’ to Hoyle, there won’t be no 
posses out huntin’ you ’cause folks will all think 
you was lynched. But even if they is a posse or 
two, which the chances is there will be, owin’ to 
the loosenin’ effect of spiritorious licker on the 
tongue, which it will be indulged in liberal when 
that bunch hits town, we can slip down into the 
bad lands an’ lay low for a while, an’ then on to 
the N. P. an’ you can get out of the country.” 

Endicott extended his hand: “I thank you,” 
he said. “It is certainly white of you boys to 
go out of your way to help a perfect stranger. I 
have no desire to thrust my neck into a noose to 
further the ends of politics. One experience of 
the kind is quite sufficient.” 


174 


The Texan 


“Never mind oratin’ no card of thanks. Just 
you climb up into the middle of that bronc an' 
we’ll be hittin’ the trail. We got quite some ridin’ 
to do before we get to the bad lands—an’ quite 
some after.” 

Endicott reached for the bridle reins of his 
horse which was cropping grass a few feet distant. 

“But Alice—Miss Marcum!” With the reins 
in his hand he faced the Texan. “ I must let her 
know I am safe. She will think I have been 
lynched and-” 

“She’s goin’ along,” interrupted the Texan, 
gruffly. 

“Going along! ” 

“Yes, she was bound to see you through be¬ 
cause what you done was on her account. Bat 
an’ her’ll be waitin’ for us at Snake Creek crossin'.” 

“Who is Bat?” 

“He’s a breed.” 

“A what?” 

“Wait an’ see!” growled Tex. “Come on; 
we can’t set here ’til you get educated. You’d 
ought to went to school when you was young.” 

Endicott reached for a stirrup and the horse 
leaped sidewise with a snort of fear. Again and 
again the man tried to insert a foot into the broad 



The Pilgrim 


i 75 


wooden stirrup, but always the horse jerked away. 
Round and round in a circle they went, while the 
Texan sat in his saddle and rolled a cigarette. 

“Might try the other one,” he drawled, as he 
struck a match. “Don’t you know no better than 
to try to climb onto a horse on the right-hand side? 
You must of be’n brought up on G-Dots.” 

“What’s a G-Dot?” 

“There you go again. Do I look like a school- 
marm? A G-Dot is an Injun horse an’ you can 
get on ’em from both sides or endways. Come 
on; Snake Creek crossin’ is a good fifteen miles from 
here, an’ we better pull out of this coulee while 
the moon holds.” 

Endicott managed to mount, and gathering up 
the reins urged his horse forward. But the animal 
refused to go and despite the man’s utmost efforts, 
backed farther and farther into the brush. 

“Just shove on them bridle reins a little,” ob¬ 
served the Texan dryly. “I think he’s swallerin’ 
the bit. What you got him all yanked in for? 
D’you think the head-stall won’t hold the bit in? 
Or ain’t his mouth cut back far enough to suit 
you? These horses is broke to be rode with a 
loose rein. Give him his head an' he’ll foiler 


along.” 


176 


The Texan 


A half-mile farther up the coulee, the Texan 
headed up a ravine that led to the level of the 
bench, and urging his horse into a long swinging 
trot, started for the mountains. Mile after mile 
they rode, the cowboy’s lips now and then draw¬ 
ing into their peculiar smile as, out of the corner 
of his eye he watched the vain efforts of his com¬ 
panion to maintain a firm seat in the saddle. 
“He’s game, though,” he muttered, grudgingly. 
“He rides like a busted wind-mill an’ it must be 
just tearin’ hell out of him but he never squawks. 
An’ the way he took that hangin’— If he’d 
be’n raised right he’d sure made some tough hand. 
An’ pilgrim or no pilgrim, the guts is there.” 


CHAPTER X 


THE FLIGHT 

When the Texan had departed Bat Lajune 
eyed the side-saddle with disgust. “Dat damn 
t’ing, she ain’ no good. A’m git de reg’lar saddle.’’ 

Slowly he pushed open the side door of the 
hotel and paused in the darkened hallway to stare 
at the crack of yellow light that showed beneath 
the door of Number n. 

“A’m no lak’ dis fool ’roun’ wit’ ’omen.” He 
made a wry face and knocked gingerly. 

Jennie Dodds opened the door, and for a moment 
eyed the half-breed with frowning disfavour. 

“Look a here, Bat Lajune, is this on the level? 
They say you’re the squarest Injun that ever 
swung a rope. But Injun or white, you’re a man, 
an’ I wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw a 
mule by the tail.” 

“Mebbe-so you lak’ you com’ ’long an’ see, eh?” 

“I got somethin’ else to do besides galavantin’ 
177 


12 


178 


The Texan 


’round the country nights with cowboys an* 
Injuns.” 

The half-breed laughed and turned to Alice. 
“Better you bor’ some pants for ride de horse. 
Me, A’m gon’ git nudder saddle. ’Fore you ride 
little ways you bre’k you back.” 

“Go over to the livery bam an’ tell Ross to 
put my reg’lar saddle on in place of the side¬ 
saddle, an* when you come back she’ll be ready.” 
Jennie Dodds slipped from the room as the outer 
door closed upon the half-breed’s departure, and 
returned a few minutes later with her own riding 
outfit, which she tossed onto the bed. 

“Jest you climb into them, dearie,” she said. 
“Bat’s right. Them side-saddles is sure the 
dickens an’ all, if you got any ways to go.” 

“But,” objected Alice, “I can’t run off with all 
your things this way! ’’ She reached for her purse. 
“I’ll tell you, I’ll buy them from you, horse and 
all!” 

“No you won’t, no such thing!” Jennie Dodds 
assumed an injured tone. “Pity a body can’t 
loan a friend nuthin’ without they’re offered to 
git payed for it. You can send the clothes back 
when you’re through with ’em. An’ here’s a 
sack. Jest stick what you need in that. It’ll 


The Flight 


179 


tie on behind your saddle, an’ you can leave the 
rest of your stuff here in your grip an I’ll ship it 
on when you’re ready for it. Better leave them 
night-gowns an’ corsets an’ such like here. You 
ain’t goin’ to find no use for ’em out there amongst 
the prickly pears an’ sage brush. Law me! I 
don’t envy you your trip none! I’d jest like to 
know what for devilment that Tex Benton’s up 
to. Anyways, you don’t need to be afraid of him 
—like Purdy. But men is men, an’ you got to 
watch ’em.” 

As the girl chattered on she helped Alice to 
dress for the trail and when the “war-bag” was 
packed and tied with a stout cord, the girl crossed 
to the window and drew back the shade. 

“The Injun’s back. You better be goin’.” 
The girl slipped a small revolver from her pocket 
and pressed it into Alice’s hand. “There’s a 
pocket for it in the bloomers. Cinnabar Joe give 
it to me a long time ago. Take care of yourself an’ 
don’t be afraid to use it if you have to. An’ mind 
you let me hear jest the minute you git anywheres. 
I’ll be a-dyin’ to know what become of you.” 

Alice promised and as she passed through the 
door, leaned swiftly and kissed the girl squarely 
upon the lips. 


i8o 


The Texan 


“Good-bye/’ she whispered. “I won’t forget 
you,” and the next moment she stepped out to 
join the waiting half-breed, who with a glance of 
approval at her costume, took the bag from her 
hand and proceeded to secure it behind the cantle. 
The girl mounted without assistance, and snub¬ 
bing the lead-rope of the pack-horse about the 
horn of his saddle, the half-breed led off into the 
night. 

Hour after hour they rode in silence, following 
a trail that wound in easy curves about the bases 
of hillocks and small buttes, and dipped and 
slanted down the precipitous sides of deep coulees 
where the horses’ feet splashed loudly in the 
shallow waters of fords. As the moon dipped 
lower and lower, they rode past the darkened 
buildings of ranches nestled beside the creeks, and 
once they passed a band of sheep camped near the 
trail. The moonlight showed a sea of grey, woolly 
backs, and on a near-by knoll stood a white- 
covered camp-wagon, with a tiny lantern burning 
at the end of the tongue. A pair of hobbled 
horses left off snipping grass beside the trail and 
gazed with mild interest as the two passed, and 
beneath the wagon a dog barked. At length, 
just as the moon sank from sight behind the long 


The Flight 


181 


spur of Tiger Butte, the trail slanted into a wide 
coulee from the bottom of which sounded the 
tinkle of running water. 

“Dis Snake Creek,” remarked the Indian; 
“better you git off now an’ stretch you leg. Me, 
A’m mak’ de blanket on de groun’ an’ you ketch- 
urn little sleep. Mebbe-so dem com’ queek— 
mebbe-so long tam\” 

Even as he talked the man spread a pair of 
new blankets beside the trail and walking a short 
distance away seated himself upon a rock and 
lighted a cigarette. 

With muscles aching from the unaccustomed 
strain of hours in the saddle, Alice threw herself 
upon the blankets and pillowed her head on 
the slicker that the half-breed had folded for 
the purpose. Almost immediately she fell asleep 
only to awake a few moments later with every 
bone in her body registering an aching protest 
at the unbearable hardness of her bed. In vain 
she turned from one side to the other, in an effort 
to attain a comfortable position. With nerves 
shrieking at each new attitude, all thought of 
sleep vanished and the girl’s brain raced madly 
over the events of the past few hours. Yesterday 
she had sat upon the observation platform of the 


The Texan 


182 

overland train and complained to Endicott of 
the humdrum conventionality of her existence! 
Only yesterday—and it seemed weeks ago. The 
dizzy whirl of events that had snatched her from 
the beaten path and deposited her somewhere 
out upon the rim of the world had come upon her 
so suddenly and with such stupendous import 
that it beggared any attempt to forecast its out¬ 
come. With a shudder she recalled the moment 
upon the verge of the bench when in a flash she 
had realized the true character of Purdy and her 
own utter helplessness. With a great surge of 
gratitude—and—was it only gratitude—this ad¬ 
miration and pride in the achievement of the man 
who had rushed to her rescue? Alone there in the 
darkness the girl flushed to the roots of her hair 
as she realized that it was for this man she had 
unhesitatingly and unquestioningly ridden far into 
the night in company with an unknown Indian. 
Realized, also, that above the pain of her tortured 
muscles, above the uncertainty of her own posi¬ 
tion, was the anxiety and w T orry as to the fate of 
Endicott. Where was he? Had Tex lied when 
he told her there would be no lynching? Even 
if he desired could he prevent the cowboys from 
wreaking their vengeance upon the man who had 


The Flight 


183 

killed one of their number? She recalled with a 
shudder the cold cynicism of the smile that habitu¬ 
ally curled the lips of the Texan. A man who 
could smile like that could lie—could do anything 
to gain an end. And yet—she realized with a 
puzzled frown that in her heart was no fear of 
him—no terror such as struck into her very soul 
at the sudden unmasking of Purdy. “ It'S his 
eyes,” she murmured; “beneath his cynical ex¬ 
terior lies a man of finer fibre.” 

Some distance away a match flared in the dark¬ 
ness and went out, and dimly by the little light 
of the stars Alice made out the form of the half- 
breed seated upon his rock beside the trail. Mo¬ 
tionless as the rock itself the man sat humped 
over with his arms entwining his knees. A sombre 
figure, and one that fitted intrinsically into the 
scene—the dark shapes of the three horses that 
snipped grass beside the trail, the soft murmur of 
the waters of the creek as they purled over the 
stones, the black wall of the coulee, with the 
mountains rising beyond—all bespoke the wild 
that since childhood she had pictured, but never 
before had seen. Under any other circumstances 
the setting would have appealed, would have 
thrilled her to the soul. But now—over and over 


184 


The Texan 


through her brain repeated the question: Where 
is he? 

A horse nickered softly and raising his head, 
sniffed the night air. The Indian stepped from 
his rock and stood alert with his eyes on the reach 
of the back-trail. And then softly, almost in- 
audibly to the ears of the girl came the sound of 
horses’ hoofs pounding the trail in monotonous 
rhythm. 

Leaping to her feet she rushed forward in time 
to see Bat catch up the reins of the three horses 
and slip noiselessly into the shelter of a bunch of 
scrub willows. In a moment she was at his side 
and the Indian thrust the reins into her hand. 

“Better you wait here,’’ he whispered hurriedly. 
“Mebbe-so, som’wan else com’ ’long. Me, A’m 
gon’ for look.” With the words the man blended 
into the shadows and, clutching the reins, the 
girl waited with every nerve drawn tense. 

Nearer and nearer came the sound of the thud¬ 
ding hoofs. The riders had reached the dip of 
the trail now and the rhythmic pound of the 
horses' feet changed to a syncopated shuffle as 
the animals made the steep descent. At the edge 
of the creek they paused for a moment and then 
Alice could hear the splash of their feet in the 


The Flight 185 

water and the deep sucking sound of horses 
drinking. 

A low peculiar whistle cut the air and the next 
moment a voice which the girl recognized as the 
Texan’s sounded plainly through the dark. 

“You got here, did you? Where’s the girl?” 
Alice could not catch the answer but at the next 
words of the Texan she started forward tugging 
at the reins of the refractory cayuses. 

“Come alive, now, an’ get your outfit together. 
There’s prob’ly a big posse out an’ we got to 
scratch gravel some lively to keep ahead of ’em, 
which little item the future prosperity of all con¬ 
cerned, as the fellow says, depends on—not only 
the hangee here, but us accessories, the law bein’ 
some specific in outlinin’ the disposal of aiders an’ 
abettors of felonious transmigrations.” 

The half-breed relieved her of the horses and 
Alice rushed to the side of Endicott who had 
reined his horse out of the water and dismounted 
stiffly. 

“Oh, Winthrop!” she cried joyfully. “Then 
they didn’t hang you, and-” 

Endicott laughed: “No, they didn’t hang me 
but they put a lot of local colour into the prelimi¬ 
naries. I certainly thought my time had come, 


The Texan 


186 

when friend Tex here gave the word to throw off 
the rope.” The girl flashed a grateful glance into 
the face of the Texan who sat his horse with the 
peculiar smile curling his lips. 

“Oh, how can I ever thank you?” she cried 
impulsively. “I think you are just splendid1 
And I’ll never, never distrust you again. I’ve 
been a perfect fool and-” 

“Yes,” answered the man gruffly, and Alice 
noticed that the smile was gone from his lips. 
“But you ain’t out of the woods yet. Bat’s got 
that horse packed an’ as soon as Winthrup, there, 
can crawl up the side of that bronc we better be 
hittin’ the trail. If we can make the timber at 
the head of Cow Creek divide by daylight, we can 
slip down into the bad lands tomorrow night.” 

Endicott painfully raised a foot to the stirrup, 
and the Texan turned abruptly to the girl. 

“Can you make it?” he asked. She replied 
with an eager affirmative and the Texan shot her 
a glance of approval as he watched her mount, 
for well he knew that she must have fared very 
little better than Endicott in the matter of aching 
muscles. 

Mile after mile the four rode in silence, Tex in 
the lead with Bat Lajune close by his side. An 



The Flight 


187 

occasional backward glance revealed the clumsy 
efforts of the pilgrim to ease himself in the saddle, 
and the set look of determination upon the tired 
face of the girl. ^ 

“Winthrup ain’t wearin’ well,” thought the 
cowboy as his lips twisted into a smile, “but what 
could you expect with a name like that? I’m 
afraid Winthrup is goin’ to wish I hadn’t inter¬ 
fered none with his demise, but he won’t squawk, 
an’ neither will she. There’s the makin’s of a 
couple of good folks wasted in them two pilgrims,” 
and he frowned darkly at the recollection of the 
note of genuine relief and gladness with which the 
girl had greeted Endicott; a frown that deepened 
at the girl’s impulsive words to himself, “I think 
you are just splendid. I’ll never distrust you 
again.” “She’s a fool!” he muttered under his 
breath. At his side the half-breed regarded him 
shrewdly from under the broad brim of his hat. 

“Dat girl she dam’ fine ’oman. She got, w’at 
you call, de nerve.” 

“It’s a good thing it ain’t daytime,” growled the 
Texan surlily, “or that there tongue of yourn 
would get sun-burnt the way you keep it a-goin’. ” 
Upon the crest of a high foothill that is a spur 
of Tiger Ridge, Tex swerved abruptly from the 


188 


The Texan 


trail and headed straight for the mountains that 
loomed out of the darkness. On and on he rode, 
keeping wherever possible to the higher levels 
to avoid the fences of the nesters whose fields 
and pastures followed the windings of the creek 
bottoms. 

Higher and higher they climbed and rougher 
grew the way. The scrub willows gave place to 
patches of bull pine and the long stretches of 
buffalo grass to ugly bare patches of black rock. 
In and out of the scrub timber they wended, fol¬ 
lowing deep coulees to their sources and crossing 
steep-pitched divides into other coulees. The 
fences of the nesters were left far behind and 
following old game trails, or no trails at all, the 
Texan pushed unhesitatingly forward. At last, 
just as the dim outlines of the mountains were 
beginning to assume definite shape in the first 
faint hint of the morning grey, he pulled into a 
more extensive patch of timber than any they had 
passed and dismounting motioned the others to 
the ground. 

While the Texan prepared breakfast, Bat busied 
himself with the blankets and when the meal was 
finished Alice found a tent awaiting her, which the 
half-breed had constructed by throwing the pack- 


The Flight 


189 

tarp over a number of light poles whose ends 
rested upon a fallen tree-trunk. Never in her 
life, thought the girl, as she sank into the foot- 
thick mattress of pine boughs that underlay the 
blankets, had a bed felt so comfortable, so abso¬ 
lutely satisfying. But her conscious enjoyment of 
its comfort was short-lived for the sounds of men 
and horses, and the low soughing of the wind in 
the pine-tops blended into one, and she slept. 
Endicott, too, fell asleep almost as soon as he 
touched the blankets which the half-breed had 
spread for him a short distance back from the 
fire, notwithstanding the scant padding of pine 
needles that interposed between him and mother 
earth. 

Beside the fire the half-breed helped Tex wash 
the dishes, the while he regarded the cowpuncher 
shrewdly as if to fathom what was passing in his 
mind. 

“Back in Wolf Rivaire, dey t’ink de pilgrim 
git hang. W’at for dey mak’ de posse? ” he asked 
at length. The Texan finished washing the tin 
plates, dried his hands, and rolled a cigarette, which 
he lighted deliberately with a brand from the fire. 

“Bat,” he said with a glance toward the sleep¬ 
ing Endicott, “me an’ you has be’n right good 


The Texan 


190 

friends for quite a spell. You recollect them four 
bits, back in Las Vegas—” The half-breed inter¬ 
rupted him with a grin and reaching into his shirt 
front withdrew a silver half-dollar which depended 
from his neck by a rawhide thong. 

“Oui, A’mdon’ git mooch chance to ferget dat 
four bit.” 

“Well, then, you got to help me through with 
this here, like I helped you through when you 
stole Fatty’s horse.” The half-breed nodded 
and Tex continued: “When that outfit goes up 
against the Wolf River hooch you can bet some¬ 
one’s going to leak it out that there wasn’t no 
reg’lar bony-fido hangin’ bee. That’ll start a 
posse, an’ that’s why we got to stay cached good an’ 
tight till this kind of blows over an’ gives us a 
chance to slip acrost the Misszoo. Even if it 
don’t leak out, an’ any one should happen to spot 
the pilgrim, that would start a posse, pronto , an’ 
we’d get ours for helpin’ him to elope.” 

“’Spose dey git de pilgrim,” persisted the half- 
breed, “de, w’at you call, de jury, dey say ‘turn 
’um loose’ ’cause he keel dat Purdy for try to-” 

Tex hurled his cigarette into the blaze. ‘ ‘ You’re 
a damn .smart Injun, ain’t you? Well, you just 
listen to me. I’m runnin’ this here little outfit, 



The Flight 


191 


an’ there’s reasons over an’ above what I’ve orated, 
why the pilgrim is goin’ to be treated to a good 
lib’ral dose of the rough stuff. If he comes through, 
he’ll stack up pretty close to a top hand, an’ if 
he don’t—” The Texan paused and scowled 
into the fire. “ An’ if he don’t it’s his own damn 
fault, anyhow—an’ there you are.” 

The half-breed nodded, and in the dark eyes 
the Texan noted a half-humorous, half-ominous 
gleam: “Dat, w’at you call, 1 reason over an 
’ bove\ she damn fine ’oman. A’m t’ink she lak’ 
de pilgrim more’n you. But mebbe-so you show 
heem up for w’at you call, de yellow, you git her 
'way, but—me, A’m no lak’ I see her git harm.” 
With which declaration the half-breed rose 
abruptly and busied himself with the horses, while 
the Texan, without bothering to spread his blan¬ 
kets, pulled his hat over his face and stretched out 
beside the fire. 


CHAPTER XI 


A RESCUE 

When Alice Marcum opened her eyes the 
timber was in darkness. The moon had not yet 
topped the divide and through an opening in the 
trees the girl could see the dim outlines of an end¬ 
less sea of peaks and ridges that stretched away 
to the eastward. The voice of the Texan sounded 
in her ears: “Come alive, now! We got to eat 
an’ pull out of here in an hour’s time if we’re goin' 
to fetch the bad lands by daylight.” 

Peering around the edge of her shelter tent she 
could see him, coffee-pot in hand, standing beside 
the tiny flame that licked at the dry pine shavings 
of a newly kindled fire. 

He turned and made his way to the creek that 
burbled over the rocks a short way down the 
ravine and Alice drew on her riding-boots and 
joined Endicott who had made nis way painfully 
toward the fire where he stood gazing ruefully at 


192 


A Rescue 


i 93 


the begrimed wreck of a white collar which he 
held in his hand. The Texan returned and placed 
the coffee-pot close against the tiny blaze. 

“When you get through invoicin’ yer trooso, 
Winthrup, it wouldn’t delay us none if you’d 
grasp that there hand-ax an’ carve out a little 
fire-fodder.” He glanced up at Alice. “An’ if 
cookin’ of any kind has be’n inclooded in your 
repretwa of accomplishments, you might sizzle 
up a hunk of that sow-belly, an’ keep yer eye on 
this here pot. An’ if Winthrup should happen to 
recover from his locomotive attacksyou an’ hack 
off a limb or two, you can get a little bigger blaze 
a-goin’ an’, just before that water starts to bum, 
slop in a fistful of Java. You’ll find some dough- 
gods an’ salve in one of them canvas bags, an’ 
when you’re all set, holler. I’ll throw the kaks 
on these cayuses, an’ Bat, he can wrastle with the 
pack.” 

Alice looked into the Texan’s face with a pecu¬ 
liar little puckering of the brows, and laughed: 
“See here, Mr. Tex,” she said, “of course, I know 
that Java must be coffee, but if you will kindly 
render the rest of your remarks a little less ca- 
liginous by calling the grub by its Christian name, 
maybe I’ll get along better with the breakfast.” 


13 


194 


The Texan 


The Texan was laughing now, a wholesome, 
hearty laugh in which was no trace of cynicism, 
and the girl felt that for the first time she had 
caught a glimpse of the real man, the boyish, 
whole-hearted man that once or twice before she 
had suspected existed behind the mask of the sar¬ 
donic smile. From that moment she liked him 
and at the breezy whimsicality of his next words 
she decided that it would be well worth the effort 
to penetrate the mask. 

“The dude, or dictionary, names for the above 
specified commodities is bacon, biscuits, an' 
butter. An’ referrin’ back to your own etymo¬ 
logical spasm, the word ‘grub’ shows a decided 
improvement over anything you have uttered 
previous. I had expected ‘food’ an' wouldn’t 
have hardly batted an’ eye at 'viands,’ an’ the 
caliginous part of it is go d, only, if you aim to 
obfuscate my convolutions you’ll have to dig a 
little deeper. Entirely irrelevant to syntax an’ 
the allied trades, as the feller says, I’ll add that 
them leggin’s of yourn is on the wrong legs, an’ 
here comes Winthrup with a chip.” 

Turning abruptly, the man made his way toward 
the horses, and as Endicott approached with an 
armful of firewood, the contrast between the men 


A Rescue 


i95 


was brought sharply to the girl’s notice. The 
Texan, easy and lithe of movement as an animal 
bom to the wild, the very tilt of his soft-brimmed 
hat and the set of his clothing bespeaking con¬ 
scious mastery of his environment—a mastery 
that the girl knew was not confined to the subdu¬ 
ing of wild cattle and horses and the following 
of obscure trails in the nighttime. Never for a 
moment had the air of self-confidence deserted 
him. With the same easy assurance that he had 
flung his loop about the shoulders of the Mayor 
of Wolf River he had carried off the honours of 
the tournament, insulted Purdy to his face, 
dictated to the deputy sheriff, and planned and 
carried out the release of Endicott from the grip 
of the law. And what was most surprising of all, 
never had he shown a trace of the boorish embar¬ 
rassment or self-consciousness which, up to the 
moment of his brutal attack upon her, had charac¬ 
terized the attitude of Purdy. And the girl realized 
that beneath his picturesque slurring and slash¬ 
ing of English, was a familiarity with words that 
had never been picked up in the cow-country. 

Endicott tossed down his wood, and Alice could 
not help but notice the sorry appearance of the 
erstwhile faultlessly dressed gentleman who stood 


The Texan 


196 

collarless and unshaven, the once delicately lined 
silk shirt filthy with trail dust, and the tailored suit 
wrinkled and misshapen as the clothing of a tramp. 
She noted, too, that his movements were awkward 
and slow with the pain of overtaxed muscles, 
and that the stiff derby hat he had been forced to 
jam down almost to the tops of his ears had left a 
grimy red band across his forehead. She smiled 
as her eyes swept the dishevelled and uncouth 
figure. 

“I am glad,” said Endicott with asperity, as he 
brushed the dirt and bits of bark from his coat, 
11 that you find the situation so humorous. It must 
be highly gratifying to know that it is of your 
own making.” 

The tone roused the girl’s anger and she glanced 
up as she finished lacing her leggings. 

“Yes,” she answered, sweetly , 44 it is—very. And 
one of the most amusing features is to watch how 
a man’s disposition crabs with the mussing of his 
clothing. No wonder the men who live out here 
wear things that won’t muss, or there wouldn’t be 
but one left and he’d be just a concentrated chunk 
of unadulterated venom. Really, Winthrop, you 
do look horrid, and your disposition is perfectly 
nasty. But, cheer up, the worst is yet to come, 


A Rescue 


197 


and if you will go down to the creek and wash 
your hands, you can come back and help me with 
the grub. You can get busy and dig the dough- 
gods and salve out of that sack while I sizzle up 
the sow-belly.’’ 

Endicott regarded her with a frown of dis¬ 
approval: “Why this preposterous and vulgar 
talk?” 

“Adaptability to environment,” piped the girl, 
glibly. “You can’t get along by speaking New 
York in Montana, any easier than you can with 
English in Cincinnati.” 

Endicott turned away with a sniff of disgust, 
and the girl’s lips drew into a smile which she 
meant to be an exact replica of the Texan’s as she 
proceeded to slice strips of bacon into the frying- 
pan. 

The meal was a silent affair, and during its 
progress the moon rose clear of the divide and 
hung, a great orange ball, above the high-flung 
peaks. Almost simultaneously with the rising of 
the moon, the wind rose, and scuds of cloud-vapour 
passed, low down, blurring the higher peaks. 

“We got to get a move on,” opined the Texan, 
with an eye on the clouds. “Throw them dishes 
into the pack the way they are, an’ we’ll clean ’em 


198 


The Texan 


when we’ve got more time. There’s a storm 
brewin’ west of here an’ we want to get as far as 
we can before she hits.” 

By the time the others were in the saddle, Bat 
was throwing the final hitch on his pack outfit, 
and with the Texan in the lead, the little calvacade 
headed southward. 

An hour’s climb, during which they skirted 
patches of scrub pine, clattered over the loose rocks 
of ridges, and followed narrow, brush-choked 
coulees to their sources, found them on the crest 
of the Cow Creek divide. 

The wind, blowing half a gale from the south¬ 
east, whipped about their faces and roared and 
whistled among the rocks and scrub timber. 
Alice’s eyes followed the Texan’s glance toward 
the west and there, low down on the serried 
horizon she could see the black mass of a cloud 
bank. 

“You can’t tell nothin’ about those thunder- 
heads. They might hold off ’til along towards 
momin’, they might pile up on us in an hour, and 
they might not break at all,” vouchsafed the man, 
as Alice reined in her horse close beside his. 

“But the wind is from the other direction!” 

“Yes, it generally is when the thunder-storms 


A Rescue 


199 


get in their work. If we can get past the Johnson 
fences we can take it easy an’ camp most anywhere 
when the storm hits, but if we get caught on this 
side without no moonlight to travel by an’ have 
to camp over tomorrow in some coulee, there’s 
no tellin’ who’ll run onto us. This south slope’s 
infested some plentiful by the riders of three or 
four outfits.” He headed his horse down the 
steep descent, the others following in single file. 

As the coulee widened Alice found herself rid¬ 
ing by the Texan’s side. “Oh, don’t you just love 
the wild country!” she exclaimed, breaking a long 
interval of silence. “The plains and the moun¬ 
tains, the woods and the creeks, and the wonderful 
air-” 

“An’ the rattlesnakes, an’ the alkali, an’ the 
soap-holes, an’ the quicksand, an’ the cactus, an’ 
the blisterin’ sun, an’ the lightnin’, an’ the rain, 
an’ the snow, an’ the ice, an’ the sleet-” 

The girl interrupted him with a laugh: “Were 
you born a pessimist, or has your pessimism been 
acquired?” 

The Texan did not lift his eyes from the trail: 
“Eamt, I reckon, would be a better word. An’ I 
don’t know as it’s pessimism, at that, to look in 
under the crust of your pie before you bite it. 




200 


The Texan 


If you’d et flies for blueberries as long as I have, 
you’d-” 

“I’d ask for flies, and then if there were any 
blueberries the surprise would be a pleasant 
one.” 

“Chances are, their wouldn’t be enough berries 
to surprise you none pleasant. Anyhow, that 
would be kind of forcin’ your luck. Follerin’ the 
same line of reasonin’, a man ort to hunt out a 
cactus to set on so’s he could be surprised pleasant 
if it turned out to be a Burbank one.” 

“You’re hopeless,” laughed the girl. “But 
look—the moonlight on the peaks! Isn’t it won¬ 
derful! See how it distorts outlines, and throws 
a mysterious glamour over the dark patches of 
timber. Corot would have loved it.” 

The Texan shook his head: “No. It wouldn’t 
have got to him. He couldn’t never have got 
into the feel of stuff like that. Meakin did, and 
Remington, but it takes old Charlie Russell 
to pick it right out of the air an’ slop it onto 
canvas.” 

Alice regarded the man in wonder. “You do 
love it! ” she said. 1 ‘ Why should you be here if you 
didn’t love it?” 

“Bein’ a cow-hand, it’s easier to make a livin’ 


A Rescue 


201 


here than in New York or Boston. I’ve never 
be’n there, but I judge that’s the case.” 

“But you are a cow-hand from choice. You 
have an education and you could-” 

“No. All the education I’ve got you could pile 
onto a dime, an’ it wouldn’t kill more’n a dozen 
men. Me an’ the higher education flirted for a 
couple of years or so, way back yonder in Austin, 
but owin’ to certain an’ sundry eccentricities of 
mine that was frowned on by civilization, I took to 
the brush an’ learnt the cow business. Then after 
a short but onmonotonous sojourn in Las Vegas, 
me an’ Bat came north for our health. . . . 
Here’s Johnson’s horse pasture. We’ve got to 
slip through here an’ past the home ranch in a 
quiet an’ onobstrusive manner if we aim to pre¬ 
serve the continuity of Winthrup’s spinal column.” 

“Can’t we go around?” queried the girl. 

“No. The coulee is fenced clean acrost an’ 
way up to where even a goat couldn’t edge 
past. We’ve got to slip through. Once we get 
past the big reservoir we’re all right. I’ll scout 
on ahead.” 

The cowboy swung to the ground and threw 
open the barbed-wire gate. “Keep straight on 
through, Bat, unless you hear from me. I’ll be 



202 


The Texan 


waitin’ by the bunk-house. Chances are, them 
salamanders will all be poundin’ their ear pretty 
heavy, bein’ up all last night to the dance.” He 
galloped away and the others followed at a walk. 
For an hour no one spoke. 

“I thought that fence enclosed a pasture, not 
a county,” growled Endicott, as he clumsily 
shifted his weight to bear on a spot less sore. 

“Oui, dat hoss pasture she ’bout seven mile 
long. Den we com’ by de ranch, an’ den de 
reservoir, an’ de hay fences.” The half-breed 
opened a gate and a short distance down the creek 
Alice made out the dark buildings of the ranch. 
As they drew nearer the girl felt her heart race 
madly, and the soft thud of the horse’s feet on 
the sod sounded like the thunder of a cavalry 
charge. Grim and forbidding loomed the build¬ 
ings. Not a light showed, and she pictured them 
peopled with lurking forms that waited to leap 
out as they passed and throttle the man who had 
rescued her from the brutish Purdy. She was 
sorry she had been nasty to Endicott. She 
wanted to tell him so, but it was too late. She 
thought of the revolver that Jennie had given her, 
and slipping her hand into her pocket she grasped 
it by the butt. At least, she could do for him what 


A Rescue 


203 


he had done for her. She could shoot the first 
man to lay hands on him. 

Suddenly her heart stood still and her lips pressed 
tight. A rider emerged from the black shadow of 
the bunk-house. 

“Hands up!” The girl’s revolver was levelled 
at the man’s head, and the next instant she heard 
the Texan laugh softly. 

“Just point it the other way, please, if it’s 
loaded. A fellow shot me with one of those once 
an’ I had a headache all the rest of the evenin’.” 
His horse nosed in beside hers. “It’s just as I 
thought,” he explained. “Everyone around the 
outfit’s dead to the world. Bein’ up all night 
dancin’, an’ most of the next day trailin’ home, you 
couldn’t get ’em up for a poker game—let alone 
hangin’ a pilgrim.” 

Alice’s fear vanished the moment the Texan 
appeared. His air of absolute self-confidence in 
his ability to handle a situation compelled the 
confidence of others. 

“Aren’t your nerves ever shaken? Aren’t you 
ever afraid?” she asked. 

Tex smiled: “Nerve ain’t in not bein’ afraid,” 
he answered evasively, “but in not lettin’ folks 
know when you’re afraid.” 


204 


The Texan 


Another gate was opened, and as they passed 
around the scrub-capped spur of a ridge that pro¬ 
jected into the widening valley, the girl drew her 
horse up sharply and pointed ahead. 

“Oh! A little lake!” she cried enthusiasti¬ 
cally. “See how the moonlight shimmers on the 
tiny waves.” 

Heavy and low from the westward came an 
ominous growl of thunder. 

“Yes. An’ there’ll be somethin’ besides moon¬ 
light a-shimmerin’ around here directly. That 
ain’t exactly a lake. It’s Johnson’s irrigation 
reservoir. If we could get about ten males below 
here before the storm hits, we can hole up in a 
rock cave ’til she blows over. The creek valley 
narrows down to a canyon where it cuts through 
the last ridge of mountains. 

“Hit ’er up a little, Bat. We’ll try an’ make 
the canyon!” 

A flash of lightning illumined the valley, and 
glancing upward, Alice saw that the mass of black 
clouds was almost overhead. The horses were 
forced into a run as the hills reverberated to the 
mighty roll of the thunder. They were following 
a well-defined bridle trail and scarcely slackened 
their pace as they splashed in and out of the water 


A Rescue 


205 


where the trail crossed and recrossed the creek. 
One lightning flash succeeded another with such 
rapidity that the little valley was illuminated 
almost to the brightness of day, and the thunder 
reverberated in one continuous roar. 

With the buildings of Johnson’s ranch left 
safely behind, Alice’s concern for Endicott’s well¬ 
being cooled perceptibly. 

“He needn’t to have been so hateful, just be¬ 
cause I laughed at him,” she thought, and winced 
at a lightning flash. Her lips pressed tighter. 
“I hate thunder-storms—to be out in them. I 
bet we’ll all be soaked and—” There was a 
blinding flash of light, the whole valley seemed 
filled with a writhing, twisting rope of white fire, 
and the deafening roar of thunder that came 
simultaneously with the flash made the ground 
tremble. It was as though the world had ex¬ 
ploded beneath their feet, and directly in the fore¬ 
front the girl saw a tall dead cottonwood split 
in half and topple sidewise. And in the same 
instant she caught a glimpse of Endicott’s face. 
It was very white. “He’s afraid,” she gritted, 
and at the thought her own fear vanished, and in 
its place came a wild spirit of exhilaration. This 
was life. Life in the raw of which she had read 


206 


The Texan 


and dreamed but never before experienced. Her 
horse stopped abruptly. The Texan had dis¬ 
mounted and was pulling at the huge fragment of 
riven trunk that barred the trail. 

‘‘We’ll have to lead ’em around through the 
brush, there. We can’t budge this boy.” 

Scattering rain-drops fell—huge drops that 
landed with a thud and splashed broadly. 

“ Get out the slickers, Bat. Quick now, or we’re 
in for a wettin’.” As he spoke the man stepped 
to Alice’s side, helped her to the ground, and loos¬ 
ened the pack-strings of her saddle. A moment 
later he held a huge oilskin of brilliant yellow, 
into the sleeves of which the girl thrust her arms. 
There was an odour as of burning sulphur and 
she sniffed the air as she buttoned the garment 
about her throat. 

The Texan grinned: “Plenty close enough I’ll 
say, when you get a whiff of the hell-fire. Better 
wait here ’til I find a way through the brush. 
An’ keep out of reach of the horse’s heels with that 
slicker on. You can’t never trust a cayuse, ’spe¬ 
cially when they can’t more’n half see. They’re 
liable to take a crack at you for luck.” 

Grasping his bridle reins the Texan disappeared 
and by the lightning flashes she could see him 


A Rescue 


207 


forcing his way through the thicket of wil¬ 
lows. The scattering drops changed to a heavy 
downpour. The moonlight had long since been 
obliterated and the" short intervals between the 
lightning flashes were spaces of intense blackness. 
A yellow-clad figure scrambled over the tree 
trunk and the cowboy took the bridle reins from 
her hand. 

“You slip through here. I’ll take your horse 
around.” 

On the other side, the cowboy assisted her to 
mount, and pulling his horse in beside hers, led 
off down the trail. The rain steadily increased in 
volume until the flashes of lightning showed only 
a grey wall of water, and the roar of it blended 
into the incessant roar of the thunder. The 
horses splashed into the creek and wallowed to 
their bellies in the swirling water. 

The Texan leaned close and shouted to make 
himself heard. 

“They don’t make ’em any worse than this. 
I’ve be’n out in some considerable rainstorms, 
take it first an’ last, but I never seen it come 
down solid before. A fish could swim anywheres 
through this.” 

“The creek is rising,” answered the girl. 


2 o8 


The Texan 


“Yes, an’ we ain’t goin’ to cross it many more 
times. In the canyon she’ll be belly-deep to a 
giraffe, an’ we got to figure a way out of the coulee 
’fore we get to it.” 

Alice was straining her ears to catch his words, 
when suddenly, above the sound of his voice, above 
the roar of the rain and the crash and roll of thun¬ 
der, came another sound—a low, sullen growl— 
indefinable, ominous, terrible. The Texan, too, 
heard the sound and, jerking his horse to a stand¬ 
still, sat listening. The sullen growl deepened 
into a loud rumble, indescribably horrible. Alice 
saw that the Texan’s face was drawn into a tense, 
puzzled frown. A sudden fear gripped her heart. 
She leaned forward and the words fairly shrieked 
from her lips. 

“It’s the reservoir!” 

The Texan whirled to face the others whose 
horses had crowded close and stood with drooping 
heads. 

“The reservoir’s let go!” he shouted, and pointed 
into the grey wall of water at right angles to their 
course. “Ride! Ride like hell an’ save your¬ 
selves! I’ll look after her!” The next instart 
he whirled his horse against the girl’s. 

“Ride straight ahead!” he roared. “Give him 


A Rescue 


209 


his head an’ hang on! I’ll stay at his flank, an* 
if you go down we’ll take a chance together!” 

Slipping the quirt from the horn of his saddle 
the cowboy brought it down across her horse's 
flank and the animal shot away straight into the 
opaque grey wall. Alice gave the horse a loose 
rein, set her lips, and gripped the horn of her 
saddle as the brute plunged on. 

The valley was not wide. They had reached 
a point where its sides narrowed to form the 
mouth of the canyon. The pound of the horse’s 
feet was lost in the titanic bombilation of the ele¬ 
ments—the incessant crash and rumble of thunder 
and the ever increasing roar of rushing waters. 
At every jump the girl expected her frantic horse 
to go down, yet she was conscious of no feeling 
of fear. She glanced over her shoulder, but the 
terrific downpour acted as a curtain through 
which her eyes could not penetrate with the aid 
even of the most vivid flashes of lightning. Yet 
she knew that the Texan rode at her flank and 
that the others followed—Endicott and Bat, with 
his pack-horse close-snubbed to his saddle-horn. 
Suddenly the girl felt her horse labouring. Ilis 
speed slackened perceptibly. As abruptly as it 
started the rain stopped; and she saw that water 


14 


210 


The Texan 


was swirling about his knees. Saw also by the 
aid of a lightning flash that throughout its width 
the valley was a black sea of tossing water. Be¬ 
fore her the bank was very close and she jerked 
her horse toward a point where the perpendicular 
sides of a cutbank gave place to a narrow plane 
that slanted steeply upward. It seemed to the 
girl that the steep ascent would be impossible for 
the horses but it was the only chance. She glanced 
backward. The Texan was close behind, and 
following him were the others, their horses wal¬ 
lowing to their bellies. She had reached the hill 
and so steep was its pitch that her horse seemed 
perpendicular to the earth’s surface. She leaned 
over the horn and twisted her fingers into his 
mane as the animal, his feet clear of the water, 
clawed and scrambled like a cat to gain the top. 
Another moment and he had pulled himself over 
the edge and the girl leaped to the ground. The 
Texan had not followed to the top but had halted 
his horse at the edge of the water that was mount¬ 
ing steadily higher. Bat swung in with his pack 
horse and with his quirt Tex forced them up the 
embankment. Endicott’s horse was all but swim¬ 
ming. The water came above the man’s knees 
as the animal fought for footing. The Texan 


A Rescue 


211 


leaned far out and, grasping the bridle, drew him 
in to the bank and quirted him to the top. Then, 
as the three watched, he headed his own horse 
upward. Scarcely had the animal come clear of 
the water when the eager watchers saw that some¬ 
thing was wrong. 

“De cinch—she bus’!” cried the half-breed 
excitedly. “Dat dam’ Purdy cut de cinch an’ 
A’m trade Tex mine for ride de outlaw, an’ we 
trade back. Voila!” As the man talked, he 
jerked the coiled rope from his saddle and rushed 
to the edge. Alice, too, crowded to the bank, her 
hands tight clenched as she saw the man, the 
saddle gone from under him, clinging desperately 
to the bridle reins, his body awash in the black 
waters. Saw also that his weight on the horse’s 
head was causing the animal to quit the straight 
climb and to plunge and turn erratically. It was 
evident that both horse and rider must be hurled 
into the flood. The fury of the storm had passed. 
The rumble of thunder was distant now. The 
flashes of lightning came at-greater intervals, and 
with a pale glow instead of the dazzling brilliance 
of the nearer flashes. Through a great rift in the 
cloud-bank the moon showed, calm and serene 
above the mad rush of black waters. 


212 


The Texan 


For a single instant Alice gazed into the up¬ 
turned face of the Texan, and in that instant she 
saw his lips curve into the familiar cynical smile. 
Then he calmly let go the reins and slipped silently 
beneath the black water, as the released horse 
scrambled to the top. Beside her, Endicott 
uttered an oath and, tearing at the buttons of 
his slicker, dashed the garment to the ground. 
His coat followed, and stooping he tore the 
shoes from his feet and poised on the very edge 
of the flood. With a cry she sprang to his side 
and gripped his arm, but without a word he 
shook her roughly away, and as a dark form 
appeared momentarily upon the surface of the 
flood he plunged in. 

Alice and Bat watched as the moonlight showed 
the man swimming with strong, sure strokes to¬ 
ward the spot where a moment before the dark 
form had appeared upon the surface. Then he 
dived, and the swift-rushing water purled and 
gurgled as it closed over the spot where he had 
been. Rope in hand, Bat, closely followed by 
the girl, ran along the edge of the bank, both 
straining their eyes for the first sign of movement 
upon the surface of the flood. Would he never 
come up? The slope up which the horses had 


A Rescue 


213 


scrambled steepened into a perpendicular cut- 
bank at no great distance below, and if the cur¬ 
rent bore the two men past that point the girl 
knew instinctively that rescue would be impossible 
and they would be swept into the vortex of the 
canyon. 

There was a cry from Bat, and Alice, struggling 
to keep up, caught a blur of motion upon the sur¬ 
face some distance below. A few steps brought 
them opposite to the point, where, scarcely thirty 
feet from the bank, two forms were struggling 
violently. Suddenly an arm raised high, and a 
doubled fist crashed squarely against the jaw of a 
white, upturned face. The half-breed poised an 
instant and threw his rope. The wide loop fell 
true and a moment later Endicott succeeded in 
passing it under the arms of the unconscious 
Texan. Then the rope drew taut and the half- 
breed braced to the pull as the men were forced 
shoreward by the current. 

With a cry of relief, Alice rushed to the aid of 
the half-breed, and grasping the rope, threw her 
weight into the pull. But her relief was short¬ 
lived, for when the forms in the water touched 
shore it was to brush against the side of the cut- 
bank with ten feet of perpendicular wall above 


214 


The Texan 


them. And worse than that, unhardened to the 
wear of water, the bank was caving off in great 
chunks as the current gnawed at its base. 
A section weighing tons let go with a roar only a 
few yards below, and Bat and the girl worked as 
neither had ever worked before to tow their bur¬ 
den upstream to the sloping bank. But the force 
of the current and the conformation of the bank, 
which slanted outward at an angle that diminished 
the force of the pull by half, rendered their efforts 
in vain. 

“You stan’ back!” ordered Bat sharply, as a 
section of earth gave way almost beneath their 
feet, but the girl paid no attention, and the two 
redoubled their efforts. 

In the water, Endicott took in the situation at 
a glance. He realized that the strain of the pull 
was more than the two could overcome. Real¬ 
ized also that each moment added to the jeopardy 
of the half-breed and the girl. There was one 
chance—and only one. Relieved of his weight, 
the unresisting form of the Texan could be dragged 
to safety—and he would take that chance. 

“ Non! Non!” The words were fairly hurled 
from the half-breed’s lips, as he seemed to divine 
what was passing in Endicott’s mind. But Endi- 


A Rescue 


215 


cott gave no heed. Deliberately he let go the 
rope and the next moment was whirled from sight, 
straight toward the seething vortex of the canyon, 
where the moonlight revealed dimly in the distance 
only a wild rush of lashing waters and the thrashing 
limbs of uprooted trees. 


CHAPTER XII 


TEX DOES SOME SCOUTING 

The moon hung low over the peaks to the west¬ 
ward when the Texan opened his eyes. For some 
moments he stared about him in bewilderment, 
his gaze travelling slowly from the slicker-clad 
form of the girl, who sat close beside him with 
her face buried in her arms, to the little group 
of horses that stood huddled dejectedly together. 
With an effort he struggled to his elbow, and at 
the movement, the girl raised her head and turned 
a very white face toward him. 

Shivering with cold, the Texan raised himself 
to a sitting posture. “Where’s Bat?” he asked. 
“An’ why ain’t he onsaddled those horses, an' 
built a fire? I’m froze stiff.” 

“Bat has gone to—to find Winthrop,” answered 
the girl, with a painful catch in her voice. “He 
wouldn’t wait, and I had no matches, and yours 
were all wet, and I couldn’t loosen the cinches.” 


216 


Tex Does Some Scouting 217 

Tex passed his hand over his forehead, as if 
trying to remember, and his fingers prodded ten¬ 
derly at his jaw. “I recollect bein' in the water, 
an' the pilgrim was there, an' we were scrappin' 
an' he punched me in the jaw. He carries a 
whallop up his sleeve like the kick of a mule. 
But what we was scrappin' about, an' where 
he is now, an' how I come here, is somethin' I 
don't savvy." 

Step by step the girl detailed what had hap¬ 
pened while the Texan listened in silence. “And 
now," she concluded, “he's gone. Just when—" 
her voice broke and once more she buried her 
face in her arms. Tex saw that she was sobbing 
silently. He felt for his 11 makings " and drew from 
his pocket a little sack of soggy tobacco and 
some wet papers. He returned them to his pocket 
and rose to his feet. 

“You're cold," he said softly. “There’s dry 
matches in the pack. I’ll make a fire an' get 
those wet saddles off the horses." 

Alice did not look up and the man busied him¬ 
self with the pack. A few minutes later she felt 
his fingers upon her shoulder. He pointed toward 
a fire that crackled cheerfully from the depths 
of a bull pine thicket. “I fixed you up a shelter 


218 


The Texan 


tent and spread your blankets. The tarp kep’ 
’em tolerable dry. Go over there an’ get off 
those clothes. You must be wet through—• 
nothin’ short of a divin’ suit would have kep* 
that rain out!” 

“But-” 

He forestalled the objection. “There won’t 
be any one to bother you. I’m goin’ down the 
creek.” 

The girl noticed that his horse, saddled with 
Endicott’s saddle stood close behind her. 

“I didn’t mean that!” she exclaimed. “But 
you are cold—chilled to the bone. You need the 
fire more than I do.” 

The man shook his head: “I’ll be goin' now,” 
he said. “You’d better make you some coffee.” 

“You’re going to—to-” 

Tex nodded: “Yes. To find the pilgrim. If 
he’s alive I’ll find him. An’ if he ain’t I’ll find 
him. An’ when I do, I’ll bring him back to you.” 
He turned abruptly, swung onto his horse, and 
Alice watched him as he disappeared down the 
valley, keeping to the higher ground. Not until 
she was alone did the girl realize how miserably 
cold and uncomfortable she was. She rose stiffly, 
and walking slowly to the edge of the bank, looked 



Tex Does Some Scouting 219 

out over the little valley. The great reservoir 
had run out in that first wild rush of water and 
now the last rays of moonlight showed only wide, 
glistening pools, and the creek subsided to nearly 
its normal proportions. With a shudder she 
turned toward the fire. Its warmth felt grateful. 
She removed, the slicker and riding costume and, 
wrapping herself, squaw-like, in a blanket, sat 
down in the little shelter tent. She found that the 
Texan had filled the coffee pot and, throwing in 
some coffee, she set it to boil. 

“He’s so thoughtful, and self-reliant, and—and 
competent,” she murmured. “And he’s brave, 
and—and picturesque. Winthrop is brave, too 
—just as brave as he is, but—he isn’t a bit pictur¬ 
esque.” She relapsed into silence as she rummaged 
in the bag for a cup, and the sugar, and a can of 
milk. The moon sank behind the ridge and the 
girl replenished her fire from the pile of wood the 
Texan had left within reach of her hand. She 
drank her coffee and her eyes sought to penetrate 
the blackness beyond the firelight. Somewhere 
out there in the dark—she shuddered as she 
attempted to visualize what was somewhere out 
there in the dark. And then a flash of memory 
brought with it a ray of hope that cheered her 


220 


The Texan 


immeasurably. “Why, he was a champion swim¬ 
mer in college / 5 she said aloud. “He was al¬ 
ways winning cups and things. And he’s strong, 

and brave—and yet-” Vividly to her mind 

came the picture of the wildly rushing flood with 
its burden of tossing trees, and the man being 
swept straight into the gurge of it. “I’ll tell him 
he’s brave—and he’ll spoil it all by saying 
that it was the only practical thing to do.” “ Oh, ’’ 
she cried aloud, “I could love him if it were not 
for his deadly practicability—even if I should have 
to live in Cincinnati.” And straightway fell to 
comparing the two men. “Tex is absurdly un¬ 
conventional in speech and actions, and he has 
an adorable disregard for laws and things. He’s 
just a big, irresponsible boy—and yet, he makes 
you feel as if he always knew exactly what to do 
and how to do it. And he is brave, too, with a 
reckless, devil-may-care sort of bravery that takes 
no thought of cost or consequences. He knew, 
when he let go his bridle reins, that he couldn’t 
swim a stroke—and he smiled and didn’t care. 
And he’s gentle and considerate, too.” She re¬ 
membered the look in his eyes when he said: 
“You are cold,” and blushed furiously. 

It seemed hours she sat there staring into the 


Tex Does Some Scouting 221 

little fire and listening for sounds from the dark. 
But the only sounds that came to her were the 
sounds of the feeding horses, and in utter weariness 
she lay back with her head upon a folded blanket, 
and slept. 

When the Texan swung onto his horse after 
having made the girl comfortable for her long vigil, 
a scant half-hour of moonlight was left to him. 
He gave the horse his head and the animal picked 
his way among the loose rocks and scrub timber 
that capped the ridge. When darkness overtook 
him he dismounted, unsaddled, and groped about 
for firewood. Despite its recent soaking the 
resinous bull pine flared up at the touch of a 
match, and with his back to a rock-wall, the cow¬ 
boy sat and watched the little flames shoot upward. 
Once more he felt for his “makings” and with 
infinite pains dried out his papers and tobacco. 

“It’s the chance I be’n aimin’ to make for my¬ 
self,” he mused, as he drew the grey smoke of a 
cigarette deep into his lungs, “to get Bat an’ the 
pilgrim away—an’ I ride off and leave it.” The 
cigarette was consumed and he rolled another. 
“Takin’ a slant at himself from the inside, a man 
kind of gets a line on how damned ornery folks 
can get. Purdy got shot, an’ everyone said he 


222 


The Texan 


got just what was comm* to him— Me, an 
everyone else—an’ he did. But when you get 
down to cases, he wasn’t no hell of a lot worse’n 
me, at that. We was both after the same thing 
—only his work was coarser.” For hours the 
man sat staring into his fire, the while he rolled 
and smoked many cigarettes. 

“Oh, hell!” he exclaimed, aloud. “ I can’t turn 
nester, an’ even if I did, she couldn’t live out in 
no mud-roof shack in the bottom of some coulee! 
Still, she— There I go again, over the same old 
trail. This here little girl has sure gone to my 
head—like a couple of jolts of hundred-proof on 
an empty stummick. Anyhow, she’s a damn sight 
safer’n ever she was before, an’—I’ll bet the old 
man would let me take that Eagle Creek ranch 
off his hands, an’ stake me to a little bunch of 
stock besides, if I went at him right. If it wasn’t 
for that damn pilgrim! Bat was right. He holds 
the edge on me—but he’s a man.” The cowboy 
glanced anxiously toward the east where the sky 
was beginning to lighten with the first hint of 
dawn. He rose, trampled out his fire, and threw 
the saddle onto his horse. “ I’ve got to find him,” 
he muttered, “if Bat ain't found him already. I 
don’t know much about this swimmin’ business 


Tex Does Some Scouting 223 

but if he could have got holt of a tree or somethin’ 
he might have made her through.” 

Now riding, now dismounting to lead his horse 
over some particularly rough outcropping of 
rocks, or through an almost impenetrable tangle 
of scrub, the man made his way over the divide 
and came down into the valley amid a shower of 
loose rock and gravel, at a point some distance 
below the lower end of the canyon. 

The mountains were behind him. Only an 
occasional butte reared its head above the sea of 
low foothills that stretched away into the bad 
lands to the southward. The sides of the valley 
flattened and became ill-defined. Low ridges and 
sage-topped foothills broke up its continuity, so 
that the little creek that started so bravely from 
the mountains ended nowhere, its waters being 
sucked in by the parched and thirsting alkali soil 
long before it reached the bad lands. 

As his horse toiled ankle-deep in the soft whitish 
mud, Tex’s eyes roved over the broadened expanse 
of the valley. Everywhere were evidences of the 
destructive force of the flood. Uprooted trees 
scattered singly and in groups, high-flung masses 
of brush, hay, and inextricably tangled barbed- 
wire from which dangled fence-posts marked 


22 4 


The Texan 


every bend of the creek bed. And on every hand 
the bodies of drowned cattle dotted the valley. 

“If I was Johnson,” he mused, as his eyes swept 
the valley, “I’d head a right smart of ranch hands 
down here heeled with a spade an’ a sexton’s com¬ 
mission. These here late lamented dogies’ll cost 
him somethin’ in damages.” From force of habit 
the man read the brands of the dead cattle as he 
rode slowly down the valley. “D bar C, that’s 
old Dave Cromley’s steer. An’ there’s a T U, 
an’ an I X cow, an’ there’s one of Charlie Green’s, 
an’ a yearlin’ of Jerry Keerful’s, an’ a quarter- 
circle M,—that belongs over the other side, they 
don’t need to bother with that one, an’ there’s 


Suddenly he drew himself erect, and rising to 
stand in the stirrups, gazed long and intently 
toward a spot a quarter of a mile below, where a 
thin column of smoke curled over the crest of a 
low ridge. Abruptly he lost interest in the brands 
of dead cattle and headed his horse at a run toward 
a coulee, that gave between two sage covered foot¬ 
hills only a short distance from the faint column 
of smoke. “That might be Bat, an’ then again 
it mightn’t,” he muttered. “It can’t be the 
pilgrim without Bat’s along, ’cause he wouldn’t 



Tex Does Some Scouting 225 


have no dry matches. “An’ if it’s any one else 
— ” he drew up sharply in the shelter of a thicket, 
dismounted, and made his way on foot to the 
summit of the ridge. Removing his hat, he 
thrust his head through a narrow opening between 
two sage bushes, and peered into the hollow beyond. 
Beside a little fire sat Bat and the pilgrim, the 
latter arrayed in a suit of underwear much abbre¬ 
viated as to arms and legs, while from the branches 
of a broken tree-top drawn close beside the blaze 
depended a pair of mud-caked trousers and a dis¬ 
reputably dirty silk shir f . The Texan picked his 
way down the hill, slipping and sliding in the soft 
mud. 

“Breakfast about ready?” he asked, with a 
grin. 

“BreakfasM Voila! A’m lak’ A’m got sonT 
breakfas’, you bet! Me—A’m gon’ for cut de 
chonk of meat out de dead steer but de pilgrim 
say: ‘ Non , dat bes’ we don’ eat de damn drownded 
cattle—dat better we sta’ve firs’!’’ 

Tex laughed: “Can’t stand for the drownded 
ones, eh? Well I don’t know as I blame you none, 
they might be some soggy.” Reaching into his 
shirt-front he produced a salt bag which he tossed 
to Endicott. “Here’s some sinkers I fetched 


226 


The Texan 


along. Divide ’em up. I’ve et. It ain’t no 
great ways back to camp-” 

“How is she—Miss Marcum? Did she suffer 
from the shock?” _ 

“Nary suffer. I fixed her up a camp last night 
back in the timber where we all landed, an’ then 
came away.” 

“She spent the night alone in the timber!” 
cried Endicott. 

The Texan nodded. “Yes. There ain’t nothin’ 
will bother her. I judged it to be the best way.” 
Endicott’s hand shot out and the cowboy’s met 
it in a firm grip. “I reckon we’re fifty-fifty on 
that,” he said gravely. “How’s the swimmin’?” 

Endicott laughed: “Fine—only I didn’t have 
to do a great deal of it. I staged a little riding 
contest all my own, part of the way on a dead 
cow, and the rest of it on this tree-trunk. I didn’t 
mind that part of it—that was fun, but it didn’t 
last over twenty minutes. After the tree grounded, 
I had to tramp up and down through this ankle- 
deep mud to keep from freezing. I didn’t dare to 
go any place for fear of getting lost. I thought 
at first, when the water went down I would follow 
back up the valley, but I couldn’t find the sides 
and after one or two false starts I gave it up. 



Tex Does Some Scouting 227 


Then Bat showed up at daylight and we managed 
to build a fire.” Endicott divided the biscuits 
and proceeded to devour his share. 

Tex rolled a cigarette. “Say,” he drawled, 
when he had lighted it with a twig from the fire, 
“what the hell did you whallop me in the jaw 
for? I seen it cornin' but I couldn't dodge, an' 
when she hit—it seemed like I was all tucked away 
in my little crib, an' somewhere, sweet voices was 
singin’." 

“I had to do it," laughed Endicott. “It was 
that, or both of us going to the bottom. You were 
grabbing for my arms and legs." 

“I ain't holdin' it against you," grinned Tex. 
“The arms an' legs is yours, an' you’re welcome 
to 'em. Also I’m obliged to you for permittin' 
me to tarry a spell longer on this mundane spear, 
as the fellow says, even if I can’t chew nothin’ 
harder'n soup." 

“Would you mind rolling me a cigarette," 
grinned Endicott, as he finished the last of the 
biscuits. “I never tried it, and I am afraid I 
would bungle the job." Without hesitation the 
Texan complied, deftly interposing his body so 
that the pilgrim could not see that the tobacco he 
poured into the paper was the last in his sack 


228 


The Texan 


He extended the little cylinder. ‘‘When you get 
that lit, you better crawl into them clothes of 
yours an' we’ll be hittin’ the back-trail. Out here 
in the open ain’t no place for us to be.” 

Endicott surveyed his sorry outfit with dis¬ 
favour. “I would rather stick to the B.V.D.’s, 
if it were practical.” 

“B.V.D., B.V.D.,” repeated the Texan. “There 
ain’t no such brand on this range. Must be some 
outfit south of here—what did you say about it?” 

“I said my B.V.D.’s,” he indicated his under¬ 
garments; “these would be preferable to those 
muddy trousers and that shirt.” 

‘' Oh, that’s the brand of your longerie. Don’t 
wear none myself, except in winter, an’ then thick 
ones. I’ve scrutinized them kind, though, more 
or less thorough—hangin’ on lines around nesters’ 
places an’ home ranches, when I’d be ridin’through. 
Never noticed none with B.V.D. on ’em, though. 
The brand most favoured around here has got 
XXXX FLOUR printed acrost the broad of ’em, 
an’ I’ve always judged ’em as belongin’ to the 
opposin’ sect.” 

Endicott chuckled as he gingerly arrayed him¬ 
self in the damp garments and when he was dressed, 
Tex regarded him quizzically: “Them belonging 


Tex Does Some Scouting 229 


of yourn sure do show neglect, Win.” Endicott 
started at the word. It was the first time any one 
had abbreviated his name, and instantly he remem¬ 
bered the words of Alice Marcum: “If you keep 
on improving some day somebody is going to call 
you Win.” He smiled grimly. “I must be im¬ 
proving,” he muttered, under his breath, “I 
would pass anywhere for a tramp. ’ ’ From beyond 
the fire Tex continued his scrutiny, the while he 
communed with himself: “Everything’s fair, et 
cetry, as the fellow says, an’ it’s a cinch there ain’t 
no girl goin’ to fall no hell of a ways for any one 
rigged out like a last year’s sheepherder. But, 
damn it! he done me a good turn—an’ one that 
took guts to do. ’Tain’t no use in chasin’ the 
devil around the stump— If I can get that girl 
I’m a-goin’ to get her! If I do I’ll wire in some 
creek an’ turn nester or do any other damned 
thing that’s likewise mean an’ debasin’ that she 
wants me to—except run sheep. But if the pil¬ 
grim’s got the edge, accordin’ to Bat’s surmise, 
he’s got it fair an’ square. The cards is on the 
table. It’s him or me for it—but from now on 
the game’s on the level.” 

Aloud he said: “Hope you don’t mind havin’ 
your name took in vain like I done, but it’s a 


230 


The Texan 


habit of mine to get names down to a workin’ 
basis when I’ve got to use ’em frequent. Bat, 
there, his folks started him off with a name that 
sounded like the Nicene Creed, but we bobbed her 
down for handy reference, an’ likewise I ain’t 
be’n called Horatio since the paternal roof-tree 
quit sproutin’ the punitive switch. But, to get 
down to cases, you fellows have got to hike back 
to the camp an’ hole up ’til dark. There’s bound 
to be someone ridin’ this here coulee an’ you 
got to keep out of sight. I’m goin’ to do a little 
scoutin’, an’ I’ll join you later. It ain’t only a 
couple of miles or so an’ you better hit for the 
high ground an’ cross the divide. Don’t risk 
goin’ through the canyon.” 

Endicott glanced apprehensively at his mud 
encased silk socks, the feet of which were already 
worn through in a dozen places. 

“Where’s your slippers!” asked Tex, catching 
the glance. 

“My shoes? I threw them away last night 
before I took to the water.” 

“It’s just as well. They wasn’t any good any¬ 
how. The ground’s soft with the rain, all you 
got to watch out for is prickly pears an’ rattle¬ 
snakes. You’ll be close to camp before the rocks 


Tex Does Some Scouting 231 

get bad an’ then Bat can go hunt up your slippers 
an’ fetch ’em out to you.” The Texan started 
for his horse. At the top of the ridge he turned: 
“I’ll stop an’ tell her that you’ll be along in a little 
bit,” he called, and swinging into the saddle, 
struck off up the creek. 

The habitual cynical smile that curled his lips 
broadened as he rode. “This here Johnson, now, 
he likes me like he likes a saddle-galded boil, ever 
since I maintained that a rider was hired to ride, 
an’ not to moil, an’ quit his post-hole-diggin’, hay- 
pitchin’, tea-drinkin’ outfit, short-handed. I ain’t 
had no chance to aggravate him real good, out¬ 
side of askin’ him how his post-holes was winterin’ 
through, when I’d meet up with him on the trail, 
an’ invitin’ him to go over to the Long Horn to 
have a snort of tea, a time or two, down to Wolf 
River.” 

At the up-slanting bank where they had sought 
refuge from the valley he dismounted, wrenched 
his own saddle out of the mud, and examined the 
broken cinch. “If the pilgrim hadn’t saved me 
the trouble, I’d of sure had to get Purdy for 
that,” he muttered, and looked up to encounter the 
eyes of the girl, who was watching him from the 
top of the bank. Her face was very white, and 


232 


The Texan 


the sight stirred a strange discomfort within him. 
“ I bet she wouldn’t turn no such colour for me, if 
I’d be’n drowned for a week,” he thought, bitterly. 

“You—didn’t find him?” The words came 
with an effort. 

The Texan forced a smile: 41 1 wouldn’t have 
be’n here if I hadn’t. Or rather Bat did, an’ I 
found the two of ’em. He’s all to the mustard an’ 
none the worse for wear, except his clothes—they 
won’t never look quite the same, an’ his socks need 
mendin’ in sixty or seventy spots. They’ll be 
along directly. You run along and fix ’em up some 
breakfast an’ keep out of sight. I’m goin’ to do 
a little scoutin’ an’, maybe, won’t be back ’til 
pretty near dark.” 

“But you! Surely, you must be nearly starved! ” 
The relief that flashed into her face at the news 
of Endicott’s safety changed to sincere concern. 

“I ain’t got time, now.” 

“Please come. The coffee is all ready and it 
won’t take but a minute to fry some bacon.” 

The Texan smiled up at her. “ If you insist,” he 
said. The girl started in surprise at the words, and 
the man plunged immediately into the vernacu¬ 
lar of the cow-country as he followed her into the 
timber. “Yes. A cup of Java wouldn’t go bad, 


Tex Does Some Scouting 233 


but I won’t stop long. I want to kind of circulate 
along the back-trail a ways to see if we’re bein’ 
followed.” He took the cup of coffee from her 
hand and watched as she sliced the bacon and 
threw it into the frying pan. “Did you ever 
figure on turnin’ nester?” he asked abruptly. 

The girl looked at him inquiringly: “Nester?” 
she asked. “What’s a nester?” 

Tex smiled: “Nesters is folks that takes up a 
claim an' fences off a creek somewheres, an’ then 
stays with it ’til, by the grace of God, they either 
starve to death, or get rich.” 

Alice laughed: “No, I never thought of being 
a nester. But it would be loads of fun. That 
is, if-” 

The Texan interrupted her almost rudely: 
“Yes, an’ if they didn’t, it would just naturally 
be hell, wouldn’t it?” He gulped down the last 
of his coffee, and, without waiting for the bacon, 
strode out of the timber, mounted his horse, and 
rode away. 

At the reservoir site he drew rein and inspected 
the ruined dirt-and-rock dam. Fresh dirt, brush, 
and rock had already been dumped into the aper¬ 
ture, and over on the hillside a group of men was 
busy loading wagons. He let himself into the 


234 


The Texan 


ranch enclosure, rode past the bunk-house and on 
toward the big house that sat well back from the 
other buildings in the centre of a grove of trees. 
A horse stood saddled beside the porch, and 
through the open door Tex could hear a man’s 
voice raised in anger: “Why in hell ain’t it ready? 
You might of knowed I’d want it early today, 
havin’ to git out at daylight! You wouldn’t give 
a damn if I never got nothin’ to eat!” The door 
banged viciously cutting off a reply in a woman’s 
voice, and a man strode across the porch, and 
snatched up the reins of the waiting horse. 

“What’s the matter, Johnson, your suspenders 
galdin’ you this momin’?” 

The man scowled into the face of the cow r - 
puncher who sat regarding him with an irritating 
grin. 

“What do you want around here? If you want 
a job go turn your horse into the corral an’ git 
out there an’ git to work on that resevoy.” 

“No, Johnson, I don’t want a job. I done had 
one experience with this outfit, an’ I fired you for 
a boss for keeps.” 

“Get offen this ranch!” roared the man, shak¬ 
ing a fist, and advancing one threatening step, 
“ or I’ll have you throw’d off! ” 


Tex Does Some Scouting 235 


Tex laughed: “I don’t aim to stick around no 
great while. Fact is, I’m in somethin’ of a hurry 
myself. I just stopped in to give you a chanct 
to do me a good turn. I happened to be down 
this way an’: ‘there’s Johnson,’ I says to myself, 
‘he’s so free an’ open-handed, a man’s welcome to 
anything he’s got, ’ so I stopped in.” 

The ranchman regarded him with an intent 
scowl: “’Sth’ matter with you, you drunk?” 

“Not yet. But I got a friend out here in the 
hills which he’s lost his slippers, an’ tore his pants, 
an’ got his shirt all dirty, an’ mislaid his hat; an’ 
knowin’ you’d be glad to stake him to an outfit 
I come over, him bein’ about your size an’ build.” 

The ranchman’s face flushed with anger: ‘‘ What 
the hell do I care about you an’ your friends. Git 
offen this ranch, I tell you!” 

“Oh, yes, an’ while you’re gettin’ the outfit to¬ 
gether just you slip in a cinch, an’ a quart or two 
of hooch , case we might get snake-bit.” 

Beside himself with rage, the man raised his 
foot to the stirrup. As if suddenly remembering 
something he paused, lowered his foot, and re¬ 
garded the cowboy with an evil leer: “ Ah-ha, I’ve 
got it now!” he moved a step nearer. “I was at 
the dance night before last to Wolf River.” He 


236 


The Texan 


waited to note the effect of the words on his 
hearer. 

“ Did you have a good time? Or did the dollar 
you had to shell out for the ticket spoil all the 
fun?” 

“Never mind what kind of a time I had. But 
they’s plenty of us knows you was the head leader 
of the gang that took an’ lynched that pilgrim.” 

1 * That’s right,’’ smiled the man coolly. *‘ Beats 
the devil, how things gets spread around, don’t it? 
An’ speakin’ of news spreading that way—I just 
came up the creek from down below the canyon. 
You must have had quite a bit of water in your 
reservoir when she let go, Johnson, judgin’ by 
results.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“You ain’t be'n down the creek, then?” 

“No, I ain’t. I’m goin’ now. I had to git the 
men to work fixin’ the dam.” 

“What I mean is this! There’s about fifty head 
of cattle, more or less, that’s layin’ sprinkled 
around on top of the mud. Amongst which I seen 
T U brands, and IX, an’ D bar C, an’ quite a 
few nester brands. When your reservoir let go 
she sure raised hell with other folks’ property. 
Of course, bein’ away down there where there 


Tex Does Some Scouting 237 

ain’t any folks, if I hadn’t happened along it might 
have been two or three weeks before any one would 
have rode through, an’ you could have run a bunch 
of ranch hands down an’ buried ’em an’ no one 
would have be’n any wiser-” 

“You’re lyin’!” There was a look of fear in the 
man’s eyes. 

Tex shrugged: “You’ll only waste a half a day 
ridin’ down to see for yourself,” he replied indiffer¬ 
ently. 

Johnson appeared to consider, then stepped 
close to the Texan’s side: “They say one good 
turn deserves another. Meanin’ that you shet 
up about them cattle an’ I’ll shet up about seein’ 
you.” 

“That way, it wouldn’t cost you nothin’ would 
it, Johnson? Well, it’s a trade, if you throw in 
the aforementioned articles of outfit I specified, 
to boot.” 

“Not by a damn sight! You got the best end 
of it the way it is. Lynchin’ is murder!” 

“So it is,” agreed the Texan. “An’ likewise, 
maintainin’ weak reservoirs that lets go an’ 
drowns other folks’ cattle is a public nuisance, an’ 
a jury’s liable to figger up them damages kind of 
high—’specially again’ you, Johnson, bein’ ornery 


238 


The Texan 


an’ rotten-hearted, an’ tight-fisted, that way, folks 
don’t like you.” 

“ It means hangin’ fer you!” 

“Yes. But it means catchin’ first. I can be 
a thousan’ miles away from here, in a week, but 
you’re different. All they got to do is grab the 
ranch, it’s good for five or six thousan’ in damages, 
all right. Still if you don’t want to trade, I’ll be 
goin’.” He gathered up his reins. 

“Hold on! It’s a damned hold-up, but what 
was it you wanted?” 

The Texan checked off the items on his gloved 
fingers: “One pair of pants, one shirt, one hat, 
one pair of boots, same size as yourn, one pair of 
spurs, one silk muffler, that one you’ve got on’ll 
do, one cinch, half a dozen packages of tobacco, 
an’ one bottle of whiskey. All to be in good order 
an* delivered right here within ten minutes. An’ 
you might fetch a war-bag to pack ’em in. Hurry 
up now! ’Cause if you ain’t back in ten minutes, 
I’ll be movin’ along, an' when I pass the word to 
the owners of them cattle it’s goin’ to raise their 
asperity some obnoxious.” 

With a growl the man disappeared into the 
house to return a few minutes later with a sack 
whose sides bulged. 


Tex Does Some Scouting 239 


“Dump 'em out an’ we’ll look ’em over!” 
ordered the Texan and the man complied. 

“All right. Throw ’em in again an’ hand ’em 
up.” 

When he had secured the load by means of his 
pack strings he turned to the rancher. 

“So long, Johnson, an’ if I was you I wouldn’t 
lose no time in attendin’ to the last solemn obse¬ 
quies of them defunk dogies. I’ll never squeal, 
but you can’t tell how soon someone else might 
come a-ridin’ along through the foot-hills.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


A BOTTLE OF 44 HOOCH ” 

It was well past the middle of the afternoon 
when the Texan rode up the steep incline and un¬ 
saddled his horse. The occupants of the camp 
were all asleep, the girl in her little shelter tent, 
and Bat and Endicott with their blankets spread 
at some little distance away. Tex carried the 
outfit he had procured from Johnson into the 
timber, then crawled cautiously to the pilgrim's 
side, and awoke him without arousing the others. 

“Hey, Win, wake up,” he whispered as the man 
regarded him through a pair of sleepy eyes. 
“Come on with me. I got somethin' to show you.” 
Tex led the way to the war-bag. “Them clothes 
of yourn is plum despisable to look at,” he im¬ 
parted, “so I borrowed an outfit offen a friend 
of mine that’s about your size. Just crawl into 
’em an' see how they fit.” 

Five minutes later the cowboy viewed with 
240 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


241 


approval the figure that stood before him, booted 
and spurred, with his mud-caked garments re¬ 
placed by corduroy trousers and a shirt of blue 
flannel against which the red silk muffler made a 
splotch of vivid colouring. 

“You look like a sure enough top hand, now,” 
grinned the Texan. “We’ll just take a drink on 
that.” He drew the cork from the bottle and 
tendered it to Endicott, who shook his head. 

“No, thanks. I never use it.” 

The Texan stared at him in surprise. “Do you 
mean you’ve got the regular habit of not drinkin’, 
or is it only a temporary lapse of duty?” 

Endicott laughed: “Regular habit,” he an¬ 
swered. 

The other drank deeply of the liquor and re¬ 
turned the cork. “You ought to break yourself 
of that habit, Win, there's no tellin’ where it’ll 
lead to. A fellow insulted me once when I was 
sober an’ I never noticed it. But laying aside 
your moral defects, them whiskers of yourn is 
sure onomamental to a scandalous degree. Wait, 
I’ll fetch my razor, an’ you can mow ’em.” He 
disappeared, to return a few moments later with 
a razor, a cake of hand-soap, and a shaving 
brush. 


242 


The Texan 


“ I never have shaved myself/’ admitted Endi- 
cott, eyeing the articles dubiously. 

“Who have you shaved?” 

“I mean, I have always been shaved by a 
barber.” 

“Oh!” The cowboy took another long pull 
at the bottle. “Well, Win, the fact is them whisk¬ 
ers looks like hell an’ has got to come off.” He 
rolled up his sleeves. “I ain’t no barber, an’ 
never shaved a man in my life, except myself, 
but I’m willin’ to take a chance. After what 
you’ve done for me I’d be a damn coward not to 
risk it. Wait now ’til I get another drink an’ 
I’ll tackle the job an’ get it over with. A man 
can’t never tell what he can do ’til he tries.” 

Endicott viewed the cowboy’s enthusiasm with 
alarm. “That’s just what I was thinking, Tex,” 
he hastened to say, as the other drew the cork from 
the bottle. “And it is high time I learned to 
shave myself, anyway. I have never been where 
it was necessary before. If you will just sit there 
and tell me how, I will begin right now.” 

“Alright, Win, you can’t never learn any 
younger. First off, you wet your face in the 
creek an’ then soap it good. That soap ain’t 
regular shavin’ soap, but it’ll do. Then you take 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


243 


the brush an’ work it into a lather, an’ then you 
shave.’ * 

“But,” inquired the man dubiously, “don’t 
you have towels soaked in hot water, and-” 

“Towels an’ hot water, hell! This ain’t no 
barber shop, an' there ain’t no gin, or whatever 
they rub on your face after you get through, 
either. You just shave an’ knock the soap off 
your ears an’ that’s all there is to it.” 

After much effort Endicott succeeded in smear¬ 
ing his face with a thin, stringy lather, and gin¬ 
gerly picked up the razor. The Texan looked on 
in owlish solemnity as the man sat holding the 
blade helplessly. 

“What you doin’, Win, sayin’ the blessin’? 
Just whet her on your boot an’ sail in.” 

“But where do I begin?” 

The Texan snorted disgustedly. “Your face 
ain’t so damn big but what an hour or two remi¬ 
niscence ought to take you back to where it starts. 
Begin at your hat an’ work down over your jaw 
’til you come to your shirt, an’ the same on the 
other side, takin’ in your lip an’ chin in transit, 
as the feller says. An’ hold it like a razor, an’ 
not like a pitchfork. Now you got to lather all 
over again, ’cause it’s dry.” 


2 44 


The Texan 


Once more Endicott laboriously coaxed a thin 
lather out of the brown hand-soap, and again he 
grasped the razor, this time with a do-or-die 
determination. 

“Oughtn’t I have a mirror?” he asked doubt¬ 
fully. 

“A mirror! Don’t you know where your own 
face is at? You don’t need no mirror to eat with, 
do you? Well, it’s the same way with shavin’. 
But if you got to have ocular evidence, just hang 
out over the creek there where it’s still.” 

The operation was slow and painful. It seemed 
to Endicott as though each separate hair were 
being dragged out by its roots, and more than once 
the razor edge drew blood. At last the job was 
finished, he bathed his smarting face in the cold 
water, and turned to the Texan for approval. 

“You look like the second best bet in a two- 
handed cat fight,” he opined, and producing his 
book of cigarette papers, proceeded to stick patches 
of tissue over various cuts and gashes. “Takin’ 
it by an’ large, though, it ain’t so bad. There’s 
about as many places where you didn’t go close 
enough as there is where you went too close, so’s 
it’ll average somewhere around the skin level. 
Anyway it shows you tried to look respectable— 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


245 


an’ you do, from your neck down—an’ your hat, 
too.” 

“ I am certainly obliged to you,” laughed 
Endicott, “for going to all that trouble to 
provide me with clothing. And by the way, did 
you learn anything—in regard to posses, I 
mean?” 

The Texan nodded sombrely: “Yep. I did. 
This here friend of mine was on his way back from 
Wolf River when I met up with him. ‘Tex,’ 
he says, ‘where’s the pilgrim?’ I remains non- 
commital, an’ he continues, ‘ I layed over yester¬ 
day to enjoy Purdy’s funeral, which it was the 
biggest one ever pulled off in Wolf River—not 
that any one give a damn about Purdy, but they’ve 
drug politics into it, an’ furthermore, his’n was 
the only corpse to show for the whole celebration, 
it bein’ plumb devoid of further casualties.’ ” 
The cowpuncher paused, referred to his bottle, 
and continued: “It’s just like I told you before. 
There can’t no one’s election get predjudiced by 
hangin’ you, an’ they’ve made a kind of issue 
out of it. There’s four candidates for sheriff 
this fall an’ folks has kind of let it be known, sub 
rosy, that the one that brings you in, gathers 
the votes. In the absence of any corpse delecti, 


246 


The Texan 


which in this case means yourn, folks refuses to 
assume you was hung, so each one of them four 
candidates is right now scouring the country with 
a posse. All this he imparts to me while he was 
throwin’ that outfit of clothes together an’ further 
he adds that I’m under suspicion for aidin’ an’ 
abettin’, an’ that means life with hard labour if 
I’m caught with the goods—an,’ Win, you’re the 
goods. Therefore, you’ll confer a favour on me 
by not getting caught, an’ incidentally save your¬ 
self a hangin’. Once we get into the bad lands 
we’re all to the good, but even then you’ve got 
to keep shy of folks. Duck out of sight when 
you first see any one. Don’t have nothin’ to say 
to no one under no circumstances. If you do 
chance onto someone where you can’t do nothin’ 
else you’ll have to lie to ’em. Personal, I don’t fa¬ 
vour lyin’ only as a last resort, an’ then in moder¬ 
ation. Of course, down in the bad lands, most 
of the folks will be on the run like we are, an’ not 
no more anxious for to hold a caucus than us. 
You don’t have to be so particular there, ’cause 
likely all they’ll do when they run onto you 
will be to take a shot at you, an’ beat it. 
We’ve got to lay low in the bad lands about a 
week or so, an’ after that folks will have some- 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


247 


thin’ else on their mind an’ we can slip acrost to 
the N. P.” 

“See here, Tex, this thing has gone far enough.’’ 
There was a note of determination in Endicott’s 
voice as he continued: “I cannot permit you to 
further jeopardize yourself on my account. You 
have already neglected your business, incurred 
no end of hard work, and risked life, limb, and 
freedom to get me out of a scrape. I fully appre¬ 
ciate that I am already under heavier obligation 
to you than I can ever repay. But from here on, 
I am going it alone. Just indicate the general 
direction of the N. P. and I will find it. I know 
that you and Bat will see that Miss Marcum 
reaches the railway in safety, and-’’ 

“Hold on, Win! That oration of youm ain’t got 
us no hell of a ways, an’ already it’s wandered 
about four school-sections off the trail. In the 
first place, it’s me an’ not you that does the per- 
mittin’ for this outfit. I’ve undertook to get you 
acrost to the P. I never started anythin’ yet 
that I ain’t finished. Take this bottle of hooch 
here—I’ve started her, an’ I’ll finish her. There’s 
just as much chance I won’t take you acrost to the 
N. P., as that I won’t finish that bottle—an’ that’s 
damn little. 


248 


The Texan 


“About neglectin’ my business, as you men¬ 
tioned, that ain’t worry in’ me none, because the 
wagon boss specified particular an’ onmistakeable 
that if any of us misguided sons of guns didn’t 
show up on the job the mornin’ followin’ the dance, 
we might’s well keep on ridin’ as far as that outfit 
was concerned, so it’s undoubtable that the cow 
business is bein’ carried on satisfactory durin’ 
my temporary absence. 

“Concernin’ the general direction of the N. P., 
I’ll enlighten you that if you was to line out straight 
for Texas, it would be the first railroad you’d 
cross. But you wouldn’t never cross it because 
interposed between it an’ here is a right smart 
stretch of country which for want of a worse name 
is called the bad lands. They’s some several 
thousan’ square miles in which there’s only seven 
water-holes that a man can drink out of, an’ 
generally speakin’ about five of them is dry. 
There’s plenty of water-holes but they’re poison. 
Some is gyp an’ some is arsnic. Also these here 
bad lands ain’t laid out on no general plan. The 
coulees run hell-west an’ crossways at their 
littlest end an’ wind up in a mud crack. There 
ain’t no trails, an’ the inhabitants is renegades 
an’ horse-thieves which loves their solitude to a 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


249 


murderous extent. If a man ain’t acquainted 
with the country an’ the horse-thieves, an’ the 
water-holes, his sojourn would be discouragin’ 
an’ short. 

“All of which circumlocutin’ brings us to the 
main point which is that she wouldn’t stand for no 
such proceedin’. As far as I can see that settles 
the case. The pros an’ cons that you an’ me 
could set here an’ chew about, bein’ merely 
incidental, irreverent, an’ by way of passin’ the 
time.” 

Endicott laughed: “You are a philosopher, Tex.” 

“A cow-hand has got to be.” 

“But seriously, I could slip away without her 
knowing it, then the only thing you could do 
would be to take her to the railway.” 

“Yes. Well, you try that an’ you’ll find out 
who’s runnin’ this outfit. I’ll trail out after you 
an’ when I catch you, I’ll just naturally knock 
hell out of you, an’ that’s all there’ll be to it. 
You had the edge on me in the water but you ain’t 
on land. An’ now that’s settled to the satisfac¬ 
tion of all parties concerned, suppose me an’ you 
slip over to camp an’ cook supper so we can pull 
out right after sundown.” 

The two made their 7ay through the timber to 


250 


The Texan 


find Alice blowing herself red in the face in a vain 
effort to coax a blaze out of a few smouldering 
coals she had scraped from beneath the ashes of 
the fire. 

11 Hold on! ” cried the Texan, striding toward her, 
“I’ve always maintained that buildin’ fires is a 
he-chore, like swearin’, an’ puttin’ the baby to 
sleep. So, if you’ll just set to one side a minute 
while I get this fire a-goin’ an’ Win fetches some 
water, you can take holt an’ do the cookin’ while 
we-all get the outfit ready for the trail.” 

Something in the man’s voice caused the girl 
to regard him sharply, and her eyes shifted for a 
moment to his companion who stood in the back¬ 
ground. There was no flash of recognition in the 
glance, and Endicott, suppressing a laugh, turned 
his face away, picked up the water pail, and 
started toward the creek. 

“Who is that man?” asked the girl, a trifle 
nervously, as he disappeared from view. 

“Who, him?” The Texan was shaving slivers 
from a bull pine stick. “He’s a friend of mine. 
Win’s his name, an’ barrin’ a few little irregulari¬ 
ties of habit, he ain’t so bad.” The cowboy 
burst into mournful song as he collected his shav¬ 
ings and laid them upon the coals: 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


251 


“It’s little Joe, the wrangler, he’ll wrangie never more, 

His days with the remuda they are o’er; 

’Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our 
camp, 

Just a little Texas stray, and all alo-o-o-n-e.” 

Alice leaned toward the man in sudden anger: 
“You’ve been drinking!” she whispered. 

Tex glanced at her in surprise: “That’s so,” he 
said, gravely. “It’s the only way I can get it 
down.” 

She was about to retort when Endicott returned 
from the creek and placed the water pail beside 
her. 

“Winthrop!” she cried, for the first time re¬ 
cognizing him. “Where in the world did you 
get those clothes, and what is the matter with your 
face?” 

Endicott grinned: “I shaved myself for the 
first time.” 

“What did you do it with, some barbed 
wire?” 

“Looks like somethin’ that was left out in the 
rain an’ had started to peel,” ventured the irre¬ 
pressible Tex. 

Alice ignored him completely. “But the 
clothes? Where did you get them?” 


2 52 


The Texan 


Endicott nodded toward the Texan. ‘‘He 
loaned them to me!” 

“But—surely they would never fit him.” 

“Didn’t know it was necessary they should,” 
drawled Tex, and having succeeded in building 
the fire, moved off to help Bat who was busying 
himself with the horses. 

“Where has he been?” asked the girl as the 
voice of the Texan came from beyond the trees: 

“It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy- 
three, 

A man by the name of Crego come steppin’ up to 
me, 

Sayin’, ‘ How do you do, young fellow, an’ how would 
you like to go 

An’ spend one summer pleasantly, on the range of 
the buffalo-o-o? ’ ” 

“I’m sure I don’t know. He came back an 
hour or so ago and woke me up and gave me this 
outfit and told me my whiskers looked like the 
infernal regions and that I had better shave—even 
offered to shave me, himself.” 

“But he has been drinking. Where did he get 
the liquor?” 

“The same place he got the clothes, I guess. 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


253 


He said he met a friend and borrowed them,” 
smiled Endicott. 

“Well, it’s nothing to laugh at. I should think 
you’d be ashamed to stand there and laugh about 
it.” 

The man stared at her in surprise. “I guess 
he won’t drink enough to hurt him any. And— 
why, it was only a day or two ago that you sat in 
the dining car and defended their drinking. You 
even said, I believe, that had you been a man you 
would have been over in the saloon with them.” 

“Yes, I did say that! But that was different. 
Oh, I think men are disgusting! They’re either 
bad , or just plain dumb!" 

“We left old Crego’s bones to bleach on the range of 
the buffalo— 

Went home to our wives an’ sweethearts, told others 
not to go, 

For God’s forsaken the buffalo range, and the damned 
old buffalo-o-o!” 

“At least our friend Tex does not seenr to be 
stricken with dumbness,” Endicott smiled as the 
words of the buffalo skinner’s song broke forth 
anew. “Do you know I have taken a decided 
fancy to him. He’s-” 



254 


The Texan 


“I’d run along and play with him then if I 
were you,” was the girl’s sarcastic comment. 
“Maybe if you learn how to swear and sing 
some of his beautiful songs he’ll give you part of 
his whiskey.” She turned away abruptly and be¬ 
came absorbed in the preparation of supper, and 
Endicott, puzzled as he was piqued, at the girl’s 
attitude, joined the two who were busy with the 
pack. “He’s just perfectly stunning in that out¬ 
fit,” thought Alice as she watched him disappear 
in the timbers. “Oh, I don’t know—sometimes 
I wish—” but the wish became confused some¬ 
how with the sizzling of bacon. And with tight- 
pressed lips, she got out the tin dishes. 

“What’s the matter, Win—steal a sheep?” 
asked the Texan as he paused, blanket in hand, 
to regard Endicott. 

“What?” 

“What did you catch hell for? You didn’t 
imbibe no embalmin’ fluid.” Endicott grinned 
and the cowboy finished rolling his blanket. 

“ Seems like we’re in bad, some way. She didn’t 
say nothin’ much, but I managed to gather from 
the way she looked right through the place where 
I was standin’ that I could be got along without 
for a spell. Her interruptin’ me right in the middle 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


255 


of a song to impart that I’d be’n drinkin’ kind 
of throw’d me under the impression that the pas¬ 
time was frowned on, but the minute I seen you 
cornin’ through the brush like you was sneaking 
off at recess, I know’d you was included in the 
boycott an’ that lets the booze out. Seein’s our 
conscience is clear, it must be somethin’ she done 
that she’s took umbrage at, as the feller says, an’ 
the best thing we can do is to overlook it. I don’t 
know as I’d advise tellin’ her so, but we might 
just kind of blend into the scenery onobtrusive 
’til the thaw comes. In view of which I’ll just 
take a little drink an’ sing you a song I heard 
down on the Rio Grande.” Thrusting his arm 
into the end of his blanket roll, the Texan drew 
forth his bottle and, taking a drink, carefully 
replaced it. “This here song is The Old Chisholm 
Trail , an’ it goes like this: 

“ Come along, boys, and listen to my tale, 

I’ll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail. 

Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, 

Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya. 

I started up the trail October twenty-third, 

I started up the trail with the 2-U herd. 


256 


The Texan 


Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle— 
And I’m goin’ to punchin’ Texas cattle. 

I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail, 
Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail. 

I’m up in the mornin’ afore daylight 
And afore I sleep the moon shines bright. 

Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss, 

But he’d go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss. 

Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man 
And you’d know there was whiskey wherever he’d 
land. 

My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud, 
My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd. 

Last time I saw him he was going cross the level 
A-kicking up his heels and a-runnin’ likeThe devil. 

It’s cloudy in the west, a-lookin’ like rain, 

An’ my damned old slicker’s in the wagon again. 

Crippled my hoss, I don’t know how, 

Ropin’ at the horns of a 2-U cow. 

We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly, 

We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by. 

No chaps, no slicker, and it’s pourin’ down rain, 
An’ I swear, by God, I’ll never night-herd again. 


A Bottle of ‘‘Hooch” 


257 


Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle, 

I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle. 

Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the 
ranks, 

I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him 
in the flanks. 

The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to 
fall, 

Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin’ to lose ’em all. 

I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn, 
Best blamed cow-puncher ever was bom. 

I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell, 
The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell. 

I don’t give a damn if they never do stop; 

I’ll ride as long as an eight-day clock. 

Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn, 

Best damned cowboy ever was born. 

I herded and I hollered and I done very well 
Till the boss said, ‘Boys, just let ’em go to hell.’ 

Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it, 

So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the 
skillet. 

We rounded ’em up and put ’em on the cars, 

And that was the last of the old Two Bars. 


17 


258 


The Texan 


Oh, it’s bacon and beans most every day,— 

I’d as soon be a-eatin’ prairie hay. 

I’m on my best horse and I’m goin’ at a run, 

I’m the quickest shootin’ cowboy that ever pulled a 
gun. / 

I went to the wagon to get my roll, 

To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul. 

I went to the boss to draw my roll, 

He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole. 

I’ll sell my outfit just as soon as I can, 

I won't punch cattle for no damned man. 

Goin’ back to town to draw my money, 

Goin’ back home to see my honey. 

With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky, 
I'll quit punchin’ cows in the sweet by and by. 

Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, 

Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.” 

As the last words of the chorus died away both 
men started at the sound of the girl’s voice. 

“ Whenever you can spare the time you will 
find your supper reacly,” she announced, coldly, 
and without waiting for a reply, turned toward the 
camp. Endicott looked at Tex, and Tex looked 
at Endicott. 


A Bottle of - Hooch” 


259 


“ Seems like you done raised hell again, Win. 
Standin’ around listenin' to ribald songs, like you 
done, ain’t helped our case none. Well, we better 
go eat it before she throws it away. Come on, 
Bat, you’re included in the general gloom. Your 
face looks like a last year’s circus bill, Win, with 
them patches of paper hangin’ to it. Maybe 
that’s what riled her. If I thought it was I’d 
yank ’em off an’ let them cuts bleed no matter 
how bad they stung, just to show her my heart’s 
in the right place. But that might not suit, 
neither, so there you are.” 

Alice sat well back from the fire as the three 
men poured their coffee and helped themselves 
to the food. 

-Ain’t yougoin’ to join us in this here repast?” 
asked Tex, with a smile. 

-1 have eaten, thank you.” 

-You’re welcome—like eight dollars change for 
a five-spot.”_ 

In vain Endicott signalled the cowboy to keep 
silent. “Shove over, Win, you’re proddin’ me in 
the ribs with your elbow! Ain’t Choteau County 
big enough to eat in without crowdin’? ’Tain’t 
as big as Tom Green County, at that, no more’n 
Montana is as big as Texas—nor as good, either; 


26 o 


The Texan 


not but what the rest of the United States has 
got somethin’ to be said in its favour, though. 
But comparisons are ordorous, as the Dutchman 
said about the cheese. Come on, Win, me an’ 
you’ll just wash up these dishes so Bat can pack 
’em while we saddle up.” 

A half-hour later, just as the moon topped the 
crest of a high ridge, the four mounted and made 
their way down into the valley. 

“We got to go kind of easy for a few miles 
’cause I shouldn’t wonder if old man Johnson 
had got a gang out interrin’ defunck bovines. I’ll 
just scout out ahead an’ see if I can locate their 
camp so we can slip past without incurrin’ note- 
riety.” 

“I should think,” said Alice, with more than a 
trace of acid in her tone, “that you had done 
quite enough scouting for one day.” 

“In which case,” smiled the unabashed Texan, 
“ I’ll delegate the duty to my trustworthy retainer 
an’ side-kicker, the ubiquitous an’ iniquitous Bat- 
erino St. Cecelia Julius Caesar Napoleon Lajune. 
Here, Bat, fork over that pack-horse an’ take a 
siyou out ahead, keepin’ a lookout for posses, post 
holes, and grave-diggers. It’s up to you to see 
that we pass down this vale of tears, unsight an’ 


A Bottle of “Hooch” 


261 


unsung, as the poet says, or off comes your hind 
legs. Amen.” 

The half-breed grinned his understanding and 
handed over the lead-rope with a bit of homely 
advice. “You no lak’ you git find, dat better 
you don’ talk mooch. You ain’ got to sing no 
mor’, neider, or ba Goss! A’m tak’ you down an’ 
stick you mout’ full of rags, lak’ I done down to 
Chinook dat tarn’. Dat hooch she mak’ noise 
’nough for wan night, sdbe?” 

“That’s right, Bat. Tombstones and oysters 
is plumb raucous institutions to what I’ll be from 
now on.” He turned to the others with the ut¬ 
most gravity. “You folks will pardon any seemin ’ 
reticence on my part, I hope. But there’s times 
when Bat takes holt an’ runs the outfit—an’ this 
is one of ’em.” 


CHAPTER XIY 


ON ANTELOPE BUTTE 

After the departure of Bat it was a very silent 
little cavalcade that made its way down the valley. 
Tex, with the lead-horse in tow, rode ahead, his 
attention fixed on the trail, and the others fol¬ 
lowed, single file. 

Alice's eyes strayed from the backs of her two 
companions to the mountains that rolled upward 
from the little valley, their massive peaks and 
buttresses converted by the wizardry of moonlight 
into a fairyland of wondrous grandeur. The cool 
night air was fragrant with the breath of grow¬ 
ing things, and the feel of her horse beneath her 
caused the red blood to surge through her veins. 

“Oh, it's grand!" she whispered, “the moun¬ 
tains, and the moonlight, and the spring. I love 
it all—and yet—” She frowned at the jarring 
note that crept in to mar the fulness of her joy. 
u It’s the most wonderful adventure I ever had—- 
262 


On Anteiope Butte 


263 


and romantic. And it’s real , and I ought to be 
enjoying it more than I ever enjoyed anything in 
all my life. But, I’m not, and it’s all because—- 
I don’t see why he had to go and drink!” The 
soft sound of the horses’ feet in the mud changed 
to a series of sharp clicks as their iron shoes en¬ 
countered the bare rocks of the floor of the canyon 
whose precipitous rock walls towered far above, 
shutting off the flood of moonlight and plunging 
the trail into darkness. The figures of the two 
men were hardly discernible, and the girl started 
nervously as her horse splashed into the water 
of the creek that foamed noisily over the canyon 
floor. She shivered slightly in the wind that 
sucked chill through the winding passage, al¬ 
though back there in the moonlight the night had 
been still. Gradually the canyon widened. Its 
walls grew lower and slanted from the perpendicu¬ 
lar. Moonlight illumined the wider bends and 
flashed in silver scintillations from the broken 
waters of the creek. The click of the horses’ feet 
again gave place to the softer trampling of mud, 
and the valley once more spread before them, 
broader now, and flanked by an endless succession 
of foothills. 

Bat appeared mysteriously from nowhere, and 


264 


The Texan 


after a whispered colloquy with Tex, led off toward 
the west, leaving the valley behind and winding 
into the maze of foothills. A few miles farther 
on they came again into the valley and Alice saw 
that the creek had dwindled into a succession of 
shallow pools between which flowed a tiny trickle 
of the water. On and on they rode, following 
the shallow valley. Lush grass overran the pools 
and clogged the feeble trickle of the creek. Far¬ 
ther on, even the green patches disappeared and 
white alkali soil showed between the gnarled sage 
bushes. Gradually the aspect of the country 
changed. High, grass-covered foothills gave place 
to sharp pinnacles of black lava rock, the sides of 
the valley once more drew together, low, and 
broken into ugly cutbanks of dirty grey. Sagebrush 
and prickly pears furnished the only vegetation, 
and the rough, broken surface of the country took 
on a starved, gaunt appearance. 

Alice knew instinctively that they were at the 
gateway of the bad lands, and the forbidding as¬ 
pect that greeted her on every side as her eyes 
swept the restricted horizon caused a feeling of 
depression. Even the name “bad lands” seemed 
to hold a foreboding of evil. She had not noticed 
this when the Texan had spoken it. If she had 


On Antelope Butte 


265 


thought of it at all, it was impersonally—an un¬ 
desirable strip of country, as one mentions the 
Sahara Desert. But, now, when she herself was 
entering it—was seeing with her own eyes the 
grey mud walls, the bare black rocks, and the 
stunted sage and cactus—the name held much of 
sinister portent. 

From a nearby hillock came a thin weird 
scream—long-drawn and broken into a series of 
horrible cackles. Instantly, as though it were 
the signal that loosed the discordant chorus of 
hell, the sound was caught up, intensified and 
prolonged until the demonical screams seemed 
to belch from every hill and from the depths 
of the coulees between. 

Unconsciously, the girl spurred her horse which 
leaped past Endicott and Bat and drew up beside 
the Texan, who was riding alone in the forefront. 

The man glanced into the white frightened face : 
“Coyotes,” he said, gravely. “They won’t bother 
any one.” 

The girl shuddered. “There must be a million 
of them. What makes them howl that way?” 

“ Most any other way would be better, wouldn’t 
it. But I reckon that’s the way they’ve learnt 
to, so they just keep on that way.” 


266 


The Texan 


Alice glanced at him sharply, but in the moon¬ 
light his clean-cut profile gave no hint of levity. 

1 ‘You are making fun of me!” 

He turned his head and regarded her thought¬ 
fully. “No. I wouldn't do that, really. I was 
thinkin’ of somethin’ else.” 

“You are a very disconcerting young man. 
You are unspeakably rude, and I ought to be fu¬ 
riously angry.” 

The Texan appeared to consider. “No. You 
oughtn’t to do that because when something im¬ 
portant comes up you ain’t got anything back, an’ 
folks won’t regard you serious. But you wouldn’t 
have been even peeved if you knew what I was 
thinkin’ about.” 

“What was it?” The instant the question left 
her lips the girl wished she could have recalled it. 

There was a long pause and Alice began to hope 

that the man had not heard her question. Then 

he turned a very grave face toward her and his 

eyes met hers squarely. “I was thinkin’ that 

maybe, sometime, you’d get to care enough about 

*- 

me to marry me. Sounds kind of abrupt an’ off¬ 
hand, don’t it? But it ain’t. I’ve been thinkin’ 
about it a lot. You’re the first woman I’ve seen 
since—well, since way back yonder, that I’d ever 


On Antelope Butte 


267 


marry. The only one that stacks up to the kind 
of people mine are, an’ that I was back there. 
Of course, there’d be a lot of readjustin’ but that 
would work out—it always does when the right 
kind of folks takes holt to put anything through. 
IVe got some recreations an’ pastimes that ain’t 
condoned by the pious. I gamble, an’ swear, an’ 
smoke, an’ lie, an’ drink. But I gamble square, 
swear decent an’ hearty, lie for fun, but never in 
earnest, an’ drink to a reasonable degree of hilarity. 
My word is good with every man, woman, an’ 
child in the cow country. I never yet went back 
on a friend, nor let up on an enemy. I never took 
underhand advantage of man or woman, an’ I 
know the cow business. For the rest of it, I’ll 
go to the old man an’ offer to take the Eagle 
Creek ranch off his hands an’ turn nester. It’s a 
good ranch, an’ one that rightly handled would 
make a man rich—provided he was a married 
man an’ had somethin’ to get rich for. I don’t 
want you to tell me now, you won’t, or you will. 
We’ve got a week or so yet to get acquainted in. 
An’, here’s another thing. I know, an’ you know, 
down deep in your heart, that you’re goin’ to marry 
either Win, or me. Maybe you know which. I 
don’t. But if it is him, you’ll get a damned good 


268 


The Texan 


man. He’s square an’ clean. He’s got nerve—* 
an’ there ain’t no bluff about it, neither. Wise 
men don’t fool with a man with an eye like his. 
An’ he wants you as bad as I do. As I said, we’ve 
got a week or more to get acquainted. It will be 
a week that may take us through some mighty 
tough sleddin’, but that ain’t goin’ to help you 
none in choosin’, because neither one of us will 
break—an’ you can bet your last stack of blue 
ones on that.” 

The girl’s lips were pressed very tight, and for 
some moments she rode in silence. 

11 Do you suppose I would ever marry a man who 
deliberately gets so drunk he sings and talks in¬ 
cessantly-” 

“You’d be safer marryin’ one that got drunk 
deliberately, than one who done it inadvertent 
when he aimed to stay sober. Besides, there’s 
various degrees of drunkenness, the term bein’ 
relative. But for the sake of argument admittin’ 
I was drunk, if you object to the singin’ and talkin’, 
what do you recommend a man to do when he’s 
drunk?” 

“I utterly despise a man that gets drunk!” 
The words came with an angry vehemence, and 
for many minutes the Texan rode in silence ’while 



On Antelope Butte 


269 


the bit chains clinked and the horses’ hoofs thudded 
the ground dully. He leaned forward and his 
gloved hand gently smoothed his horse’s mane. 
“ You don’t mean just exactly that,” he said, with 
his eyes on the dim outline of a butte that rose 
high in the distance. Alice noticed that the ban¬ 
tering tone was gone from his voice, and that 
his words fell with a peculiar softness. “ I reckon, 
though, I know what you do mean. An’ I reckon 
that barrin’ some little difference in viewpoint, 
we think about alike. . . . Yonder’s Antelope 
Butte. We’ll be safe to camp there till we 
find out which way the wind blows before we 
strike across.” 

Deeper and deeper they pushed into the bad 
lands, the huge bulk of Antelope Butte looming 
always before them, its outline showing distinctly 
in the light of the sinking moon. As far as the 
eye could see on every side the moonlight revealed 
only black lava-rock, deep black shadows that 
marked the courses of dry coulees, and enormous 
mud-cracks—and Antelope Butte. 

As the girl rode beside the cowboy she noticed 
that the cynical smile was gone from the clean- 
cut profile. For miles he did not speak. Antelope 
Butte was near, now. 


270 


The Texan 


“I am thirsty,” she said. A gauntleted hand 
fumbled for a moment with the slicker behind the 
cantle, and extended a flask. 

“It’s water. I figured someone would get 
thirsty.” 

The girl drank from the flask and returned it: 
4 ‘If there are posses out won’t they watch the 
water-holes? You said there are only a few in 
the bad lands.” 

“Yes, they’ll watch the water-holes. That’s 
why we’re goin’ to camp on Antelope Butte— 
right up on top of it.” 

“But, how will we get water?” 

“It’s there.” 

“Have you been up there?” The girl glanced 
upward. They were already ascending the first 
slope, and the huge mass of the detached moun¬ 
tain towered above them in a series of unscaleable 
precipices. 

“No. But the water’s there. The top of the 
Butte hollows out like a saucer, an’ in the bowl 
there’s a little sunk spring. No one much ever 
goes up there. There’s a little scragglin’ timber, 
an’ the trail—it’s an old game trail—is hard to 
find if you don’t know where to look for it. A 
horse-thief told me about it.” 


On Antelope Butte 


271 


“A horse-thief! Surely, you are not risking 
all our lives on the word of a horse-thief!” 

“Yes. He was a pretty good fellow. They 
killed him, afterwards, over near the Mission. 
He was runnin’ off a bunch of Flourey horses.” 

“But a man who would steal would lie!” 

“He didn’t lie to me. He judged I done him 
a good turn once. Over on the Marias, it was— 
an’ he said: ‘If you’re ever on the run, hit for 
Antelope Butte.’ Then he told me about the trail, 
an’ the spring that you’ve got to dig for among the 
rocks. He’s got a grub cache there, too. He won’t 
be needin’ it, now.” The cowboy glanced toward 
the west. “The moon ought to just about hold 
’til we get to the top. He said you could ride 
all the way up.” Without an instant’s hesitation 
he headed his horse for a huge mass of rock frag¬ 
ments that lay at the base of an almost perpendicu¬ 
lar wall. The others followed in single file. Bat 
bringing up the rear driving the pack-horse before 
him. Alice kept her horse close behind the Tex¬ 
an’s which wormed and twisted in and out among 
the rock fragments that skirted the wall. For 
a quarter of a mile they proceeded with scarcely 
a perceptible rise and then the cowboy turned his 
horse into a deep fissure that slanted upward 


272 


The Texan 


at a most precarious angle seemingly straight into 
the heart of the mountain. Just when it seemed 
that the trail must end in a blind pocket, the 
Texan swung into a cross fissure so narrow that 
the stirrups brushed either side. So dark was it 
between the towering rock walls that Alice could 
scarcely make out the cowboy’s horse, although at 
no time was he more than ten or fifteen feet in 
advance. After innumerable windings the fissure 
led once more to the face of the mountain and 
Tex headed his horse out upon a ledge that had 
not been discernible from below. Alice gasped, 
and for a moment it seemed as though she could 
not go on. Spread out before her like a huge 
relief map were the ridges and black coulees of the 
bad lands, and directly below—hundreds of feet 
below—the gigantic rock fragments lay strewn 
along the base of the cliff like the abandoned 
blocks of a child. She closed her eyes and shud¬ 
dered. A loose piece of rock on the narrow trail, 
a stumble, and—she could feel herself whirling 
down, down, down. It was the voice of the 
Texan—confident, firm, reassuring—that brought 
her once more to her senses. 

“It’s all right. Just follow right along. Shut 
your eyes, or keep ’em to the wall. We’re half- 


On Antelope Butte 


273 


way up. It ain’t so steep from here on, an’ she 
widens toward the top. I’m dizzy-headed, too, 
in high places an’ I shut mine. Just give the 
horse a loose rein an’ he’ll keep the trail. There 
ain’t nowhere else for him to go.” 

With a deadly fear in her heart, the girl fastened 
her eyes upon the cowboy’s back and gave her 
horse his head. And as she rode she wondered at 
this man who unhesitatingly risked his life upon 
the word of a horse-thief. 

Almost before she realized it the ordeal was 
over and her horse was following its leader through 
a sparse grove of bull pine. The ascent was still 
rather sharp, and the way strewn with boulders 
and fallen trees, but the awful precipice, with its 
sheer drop of many hundreds of feet to the black 
rocks below, no longer yawned at her stirrup’s 
edge, and it was with a deep-drawn breath of 
relief that she allowed her eyes once again to 
travel out over the vast sweep of waste toward the 
west where the moon hung low and red above the 
distant rim of the bad lands. 

The summit of Antelope Butte was, as the horse- 
thief had said, an ideal camping place for any one 
who was “on the run.” The edges of the little 
plateau, which was roughly circular in form, 


274 


The Texan 


rose on every side to a height of thirty or forty 
feet, at some points in an easy slope, and at 
others in a sheer rise of rock wall. The surface 
of the little plane showed no trace of the black 
of the lava rock of the lower levels but was of 
the character of the open bench and covered 
with buffalo grass and bunch grass with here and 
there a sprinkling of prickly pears. The four 
dismounted and, in the last light of the moon, 
surveyed their surroundings. 

“You make camp, Bat,” ordered the Texan, 
“while me an’ Win hunt up the spring. He said 
it was on the east side where there was a lot of 
loose rock along the edge of the bull pine. We’ll 
make the camp there, too, where the wood an’ 
water will be handy. ” 

Skirting the plateau, Tex led the way toward a 
point where a few straggling pines showed gaunt 
and lean in the rapidly waning moonlight. 

“It ought to be somewheres around here,” he 
said, as he stopped to examine the ground more 
closely. “He said you had to pile off the rocks ’til 
you come to the water an’ then mud up a catch- 
basin. ” As he talked, the cowboy groped among 
the loose rocks on his hands and knees, pausing 
frequently to lay his ear to the ground. 1 ‘ Here she 


On Antelope Butte 


275 


is!” he exclaimed at length. “I can hear her drip! 
Come on, Win, well build our well. ” 

Alice stood close beside her horse watching every 
move with intense interest. 

“Who would have thought to look for water 
there?” she exclaimed. 

“I knew we’d find it just as he said,” answered 
the Texan gravely. “He was a good man, in his 
way—never run off no horses except from outfits 
that could afford to lose ’em. Why, they say, he 
could have got plumb away if he’d shot the posse 
man that run onto him over by the Mission. But 
he knew the man was a nester with a wife an’ two 
kids, so he took a chance—an’ the nester got him. ” 

“How could he?” cried the girl, “after-” 

The Texan regarded her gravely. “It was 
tough. An’ he probably hated to do it. But he 
was a swom-in posse man, an’ the other was a 
horse-thief. It was just one of those things a 
man’s got to do. Like Jim Larkin, when he was 
sheriff, havin’ to shoot his own brother, an’ him 
hardly more’n a kid that Jim had raised. But 
he’d gone plumb bad an’ swore never to be taken 
alive, so Jim killed him—an’ then he resigned. 
There ain’t a man that knows Jim, that don’t 
know he’d rather a thousan’ times over had the 


27 6 


The Texan 


killin’ happen the other way ’round. But he 
was a man. He had it to do—an’ he done it. ” 

Alice shuddered: “And then—what became of 
him, then?” 

“Why, then, he went back to ranchin’. He 
owns the Bar X horse outfit over on the White 
Mud. This here, Owen—that was his brother’s 
name—was just like a son to him. Jim tried to 
steer him straight, but the kid was just naturally a 
bad egg. Feelin’ it the way he does, a lesser man 
might of squinted down the muzzle of his own gun, 
or gone the whiskey route. But not him. To all 
appearances he’s the same as he always was. But 
some of us that know him best—we can see that he 
ain’t quite the same as before—an’ he never will be.” 

There were tears in the girl’s eyes as the man 
finished. 

“Oh, it’s all wrong! It’s cruel, and hard, and 
brutal, and wrong!” 

“No. It ain’t wrong. It’s hard, an’ it’s cruel, 
maybe, an’ brutal. But it’s right. It ain’t a 
country for weaklings—the cow country ain’t. 
It’s a country where, every now an’ then, a man 
comes square up against something that he’s got to 
do. An’ that something is apt as not to be just 
what he don’t want to do. If he does it, he’s a 


On Antelope Butte 


277 


man, an’ the cow country needs him. If he don’t 
do it, he passes on to where there’s room for his 
kind—an’ the cow country don’t miss him. A 
man earns his place here, it ain’t made for him— 
often he earns the name by which he’s called. I 
reckon it’s the same all over—only this is rawer. ” 

“Here’s the water! And it is cold and sweet, ” 
called Endicott who had been busily removing the 
loose rock fragments beneath which the spring lay 
concealed. 

The Texan’s interest centred on matters at 
hand: “You Bat, you make a fire when you’ve 
finished with the horses.” He turned again to 
the girl: “If you’ll be the cook, Win an’ I’ll mud 
up a catch-basin an’ rustle some firewood while 
Bat makes camp. We got to do all our cookin’ at 
night up here. A fire won’t show above the rim 
yonder, but in the daytime someone might see the 
smoke from ten mile off.” 

“Of course, I’ll do the cooking!” assented the 
girl, and began to carry the camp utensils from 
the pack that the half-breed had thrown upon the 
ground. “The dough-gods are all gone!” she 
exclaimed in dismay, peering into a canvas bag. 

“Mix up some bakin’-powder ones. There's 
flour an’ stuff in that brown sack.” 


278 


The Texan 


“But—I don’t know how!” 

“All right. Wait ’til I get Win strung out on 
this job, an’ I’ll make up a batch. ” 

He watched Endicott arrange some stones: 
“Hey, you got to fit those rocks in better’n that. 
Mud ain’t goin’ to hold without a good backin ’. ” 
The cowboy washed his hands in the overflow 
trickle and wiped them upon his handkerchief. 
“ I don’t know what folks does all their lives back 
East,” he grinned; “Win, there, ain’t barbered 
none to speak of, an’ the Lord knows he ain’t no 
stone-mason. ” 

Alice did not return the smile, and the Texan 
noticed that her face was grave in the pale star¬ 
light. For the first time in her life the girl felt 
ashamed of her own incompetence. 

“And I can’t cook, and-” 

“Well, that’s so,” drawled Tex, “but it won’t 
be so tomorrow. No one but a fool would blame 
any one for not doin’ a thing they’ve never learnt 
to do. They might wonder a little how-come they 
never learnt, but they wouldn’t hold it against 
’em—not ’til they’ve had the chance.” Bat was 
still busy with the horses and the cowboy collected 
sticks and lighted a small fire, talking, as he worked 
with swift movements that accomplished much 


On Antelope Butte 


279 


without the least show of haste. “It generally 
don’t take long in the cow country for folks to 
get their chance. Take Win, there. Day before 
yesterday he was about the greenest pilgrim that 
ever straddled a horse. Not only he didn’t know 
anything worth while knowin’, but he was pre¬ 
judiced. The first time I looked at him I sized 
him up—almost. ‘There’s a specimen,’ I says to 
myself—while you an’ Purdy was gossipin’ about 
the handkerchief, an’ the dance, an’ what a beauti¬ 
ful rider he was—* that’s gone on gatherin’ refine¬ 
ment ’til it’s crusted onto him so thick it’s prob¬ 
ably struck through.’ But just as I was losin’ 
interest m him, he slanted a glance at Purdy that 
made me look him over again. There he stood, 
just the same as before—only different.” The 
Texan poured some flour into a pan and threw in 
a couple of liberal pinches of baking-powder. 

Alice’s eyes followed his every movement, and 
she glanced toward the spring that Endicott had 
churned into a mud hole. The cowboy noted her 
glance. “It would be riled too much even if we 
strained it,” he smiled, “so we’ll just use what’s 
left in that flask. It don’t take much water an’ 
the spring will dear in time for the coffee. ” 

“And some people never do learn?” Alice 


28 o 


The Texan 


wanted to hear more from this man’s lips concern¬ 
ing the pilgrim. But the Texan mustn’t know that 
she wanted to hear. 

“Yes, some don’t learn, some only half learn, 
an’ some learn in a way that carries ’em along 
’til it comes to a pinch—they’re the worst. But, 
speakin’ of Win, after I caught that look, the only 
surprise I got when I heard he’d killed Purdy was 
that he could do it—not that he would. Then 
later, under certain circumstances that come to 
pass in a coulee where there was cottonwoods, him 
an’ I got better acquainted yet. An’ then in the 
matter of the reservoir—but you know more about 
that than I do. You see what I’m gettin’ at is 
this: Win can saddle his own horse, now, an’ he 
climbs onto him from the left side. The next time 
he tackles it he’ll shave, an’ the next time he muds 
up a catch-basin he’ll mud it right. Day before 
yesterday he was about as useless a lookin’ piece 
of bric-a-brac as ever draw’d breath—an’ look at 
him now! There ain’t been any real change. The 
man was there all the time, only he was so well 
disguised that no one ever know’d it—himself 
least of all. Yesterday I saw him take a chew off 
Bat’s plug—-an’ Bat don’t offer his plug promiscu¬ 
ous. He’ll go back East, an’ the refinement will 


On Antelope Butte 


281 

cover him up again—an’ that’s a damned shame. 
But he won’t be just the same. It won’t crust 
over no more, because the prejudice is gone. 
He’s chewed the meat of the cow country—an’ 
he’s found it good.” 

Later, long after the others had gone to sleep, 
Alice lay between her blankets in the little shelter 
tent, thinking. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE TEXAN HEARS SOME NEWS 

Bat had pitched the tent upon a little knoll, 
screened by a jutting shoulder of rock from the 
sleeping place of the others. When Alice awoke 
it was broad daylight. She lay for a few moments 
enjoying the delicious luxury of her blankets which 
the half-breed had spread upon a foot-thick layer 
of boughs. The sun beat down upon the white 
canvas and she realized that it was hot in the tent. 
The others must have been up for hours and she 
resented their not having awakened her. She 
listened for sounds, but outside all was silence 
and she dressed hurriedly. Stepping from the 
tent, she saw the dead ashes of the little fire and 
the contents of the packs apparently undisturbed, 
covered with the tarp. She glanced at her watch. 
It was half past nine. Suddenly she remembered 
that dawn had already began to grey the east when 
they retired. She was the first one up! She would 
282 


The Texan Hears Some News 283 

let the others sleep. They needed it. She re¬ 
membered the Texan had not slept the day before, 
but had ridden away to return later with the 
clothing for Endicott—and the whiskey. 

“ I don’t see why he has to drink! ” she muttered, 
and making her way to the spring, dipped some 
water from the catch-basin and splashed it over 
her face and arms. The cold water dispelled the 
last vestige of sleepiness and she stood erect and 
breathed deeply of the crystal air. At the farther 
side of the bowl-like plateau the horses grazed 
contentedly, and a tiny black and white wood¬ 
pecker flew from tree to tree pecking busily at the 
bark. Above the edge of the rim-rocks the high- 
flung peaks of the Bear Paws belied the half-night’s 
ride that separated them from the isolated An¬ 
telope Butte. 

“What a view one should get from the edge!” 
she exclaimed, and turning from the spring, made 
her way through the scraggly timber to the rock 
wall beyond. It was not a long climb and five 
minutes later she stood panting with exertion and 
leaned against an upstanding pinnacle of jagged 
rock. For a long time she stood wonder-bound by 
the mighty grandeur of the panorama that swept 
before her to lose itself somewhere upon the dim 


284 


The Texan 


horizon. Her brain grasped for details. It was 
all too big—too unreal—too unlike the world she 
had known. In sheer desperation, for sight of 
some familiar thing, her eyes turned toward the 
carpp. There was the little white tent, and the 
horses grazing beyond. Her elevation carried her 
range of vision over the jutting shoulder of rock, 
and she saw the Texan sitting beside his blankets 
drawing on his boots. The blankets were mounded 
over the forms of the others, and without disturb¬ 
ing them, the cowboy put on his hat and started 
toward the spring. At the sight of the little tent 
he paused and Alice saw him stand staring at the 
little patch of white canvas. For a long time he 
stood unmoving, and then, impulsively, his two 
arms stretched toward it. The arms were as 
quickly withdrawn. The Stetson was lifted from 
his head and once more it seemed a long time that 
he stood looking at the little tent with the soft 
brim of his Stetson crushed tightly in his hand. 

Evidently, for fear of waking her, the man did 
not go to the spring, but retraced his steps and 
Alice saw him stoop and withdraw something from 
his war-bag. Thrusting the object beneath his 
shirt, he rose slowly and made his way toward the 
rim-rock, choosing for his ascent a steep incline 


The Texan Hears Some News 285 

which, with the aid of some rock ledges, would 
bring him to the top at a point not ten yards from 
where she stood. 

It was with a sense of guilt that she realized she 
had spied upon this man, and her cheeks flushed as 
she cast about desperately for a means to escape 
unseen. But no such avenue presented itself, and 
she drew back into a deep crevice of her rock pin¬ 
nacle lest he see her. 

A grubby, stunted pine somehow managed to 
gain sustenance from the stray earth among the 
rock cracks and screened her hiding-place. The 
man was very close, now. She could hear his 
heavy breathing and the click of his boot heels 
upon the bare rocks. Then he crossed to the very 
verge of the precipice and seated himself with his 
feet hanging over the edge. For some moments 
he sat gazing out over the bad lands, and then his 
hand slipped into the front of his shirt and with¬ 
drew a bottle of whiskey. 

The girl’s lips tightened as she watched him from 
behind her screen of naked roots and branches. 
He looked a long time at the bottle, shook it, and 
held it to the sun as he contemplated the little 
beads that sparkled at the edge of the liquor line. 
He read its label, and seemed deeply interested 


286 


The Texan 


in the lines of fine print contained upon an oval 
sticker that adorned its back. Still holding the 
bottle, he once more stared out over the bad lands. 
Then he drew the cork and smelled of the liquor, 
breathing deeply of its fragrance, and turning, 
gazed intently toward the little white tent beside 
the stunted pines. 

Alice saw that his eyes were serious as he set the 
bottle upon the rock beside him. And then, 
hardly discernible at first, but gradually assuming 
distinct form, a whimsical smile curved his lips as 
he looked at the bottle. 

“Gosh!” he breathed, softly, “ain’t you an’ 
I had some nonsensical times? I ain’t a damned 
bit sorry, neither. But our trails fork here. 
Maybe for a while—maybe for ever. But if it is 
for ever, my average will be right honourable if I 
live to be a hundred. ” Alice noticed how boyish 
the clean-cut features looked when he smiled that 
way. The other smile—the masking, cynical smile 
—made him ten years older. The face was once 
more grave, and he raised the bottle from the rock. 
“So long,” he said, and there was just that touch 
of honest regret in his voice with which he would 
have parted from a friend. “So long. I’ve got a 
choice to make—an’ I don’t choose you. ” 


The Texan Hears Some News 287 


The hand that held the bottle was empty. 
There was a moment of silence and then from far 
below came the tinkle of smashing glass. The 
Texan got up, adjusted the silk scarf at his neck, 
rolled a cigarette, and clambering down the sharp 
descent, made his way toward the grazing horses. 
Alice watched for a moment as he walked up to his 
own horse, stroked his neck, and lightly cuffed at 
the ears which the horse laid back as he playfully 
snapped at his master's hand. Then she scrambled 
from her hiding-place and hurried unobserved to 
her tent, where she threw herself upon the blankets 
with a sound that was somehow very like a sob. 

When the breakfast of cold coffee and biscuits 
was finished the Texan watched Endicott’s clumsy 
efforts to roll a cigarette. 

“Better get you a piece of twine to do it with, 
Win, ” he grinned; “you sure are a long w r ays from 
home when it comes to braidin’ a smoke. Saw a 
cow-hand do it once with one hand. In a show, it 
was in Cheyenne, an’ he sure was some cowboy— 
in the show. Come out onto the flats one day 
where the boys was breakin’ a bunch of Big 0 
Little 0 horses—‘after local colour,’ he said.” 
The Texan paused and grinned broadly. “Got it 
too. He clum up into the middle of a wall-eyed 


2 88 


The Texan 


buckskin an’ the doc picked local colour out of 
his face for two hours where he’d slid along on 
it—but he could roll a cigarette with one hand. 
There, you got one at last, didn’t you? Kind 
of humped up in the middle like a snake that’s 
swallowed a frog, but she draws all right, an’ may¬ 
be it’ll last longer than a regular one. ” He turned 
to Alice who had watched the operation with 
interest. 

“If you-all don’t mind a little rough climbin’, 
I reckon, you’d count the view from the rim-rocks 
yonder worth seein’. ” 

“Oh, I’d love it! ” cried the girl, as she scrambled 
to her feet. 

“Come on, Win,” called the Texan, “I’ll show 
you where God dumped the tailin’s when He 
finished buildin’ the world. ” 

Together the three scaled the steep rock-wall. 
Alice, scorning assistance, was the first to reach the 
top, and once more the splendour of the magnificent 
waste held her speechless. 

For some moments they gazed in silence. Be¬ 
fore them, bathed in a pale amethyst haze that 
thickened to purple at the far-off edge of the world, 
lay the bad lands resplendent under the hot glare 
of the sun in vivid red and black and pink colouring 


The Texan Hears Some News 289 


of the lava rock. Everywhere the eye met the 
flash and shimmer of mica fragments that sparkled 
like the facets of a million diamonds, while to the 
northward the Bear Paws reared cool and green, 
with the grass of the higher levels reaching almost 
to the timber line. 

“ Isn’t it wonderful?” breathed the girl. “Why 
do people stay cooped up in the cities, when out 
here there is—this?” Endicott’s eyes met hers, 
and in their depths she perceived a newly awakened 
fire. She was conscious of a strange glow at her 
heart—a mighty gladness welled up within her, 
permeating her whole being. “He has awakened, ” 
her brain repeated over and over again, “he 
has- 

The voice of the Texan fell upon her ears softly 
as from a distance, and she turned her eyes to the 
boyish faced cow-puncher who viewed life lightly 
and who, she had learned, was the thorough master 
of his wilderness, and very much a man. 

1 * I love it too, ’’ he was saying. * 1 This bad land 
best of all. What with the sheep, an’ the nesters, 
the range country must go. But barbed-wire can 
never change this,” his arm swept the vast plain 
before him. “I suppose God foreseen what the 
country was cornin’ to,” he speculated, “an’ just 


19 


290 


The Texan 


naturally stuck up His ‘keep off’ sign on places 
here an’ there—the Sahara Desert, an’ Death 
Valley, an’ the bad lands. He wanted somethin’ 
left like He made it. Yonder’s the Little Rockies, 
an’ them big black buttes to the south are the 
Judith, an’ you can see—way beyond the Judith 
—if you look close—the Big Snowy Mountains. 
They’re more than a hundred miles away. ” 

The cowboy ceased speaking suddenly. And 
Alice, following his gaze, made out far to the north¬ 
eastward a moving speck. The Texan crouched 
and motioned the others into the shelter of a rock. 
“Wish I had a pair of glasses, ” he muttered, with 
his eyes on the moving dot. 

“What is it?” asked the girl. 

“Rider of some kind. Maybe the I X round¬ 
up is workin’ the south slope. An’ maybe it’s just 
a horse-thief. But it mightn’t be either. Guess 
I’ll just throw the hull on that cayuse of mine an’ 
siyou down and see. He’s five or six miles off yet, 
an’ I’ve got plenty of time to slip down there. 
Glad the trail’s on the west side. You two stay 
up here, but you got to be awful careful not to show 
yourselves. Folks down below look awful little 
from here, but if they’ve got glasses you’d loom up 
plenty big, an’ posse men’s apt to pack glasses. ” 


The Texan Hears Some News 291 

The two followed him to camp and a few moments 
later watched him ride off at a gallop and disappear 
in the scrub that concealed the mouth of the pre¬ 
cipitous trail. 

Hardly had he passed from sight than Bat rose 
and, walking to his saddle, uncoiled his rope. 

“Where are you going?” asked Endicott as the 
half-breed started toward the horses. 

“ Me, oh, A’m trail long behine. Mebbe-so two 
kin see better’n wan . 99 

A few minutes later he too was swallowed up 
in the timber at the head of the trail, and Alice and 
Endicott returned to the rim-rocks and from a 
place of concealment watched with breathless 
interest the course of the lone horseman. 

After satisfying himself he was unobserved, the 
Texan pushed from the shelter of the rocks at the 
foot of the trail and, circling the butte, struck into 
a coulee that led south-eastward into the bad lands. 
A mile away he crossed a ridge and gained another 
coulee which he followed northward. 

“If he's headin' into the bad lands I’ll meet 
upwithhim, an’ if he’s just skirtin’ ’em, our trails’ll 
cross up here a piece,” he reasoned as his horse 
carried him up the dry ravine at a steady walk. 
Presently he slanted into a steep side coulee that 


29 2 


The Texan 


led upward to the crest of a long flat ridge. For a 
moment he paused as his eyes swept the landscape 
and then suddenly a quarter of a mile away a horse¬ 
man appeared out of another coulee. He, too, 
paused and, catching sight of the Texan, dug in his 
spurs and came toward him at a run. 

The cowboy’s brows drew into a puzzled frown 
as he studied the rapidly approaching horseman. 
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he grinned, “ain’t he the 
friendly young spirit! His ma had ought to look 
after him better’n that an’ teach him some man¬ 
ners. The idea of any one chargin’ up to a stranger 
that way in the bad lands! One of these days he’s 
a-goin’ to run up again’ an abrupt foreshortin’ of his 
reckless young career. ” The rider was close now 
and the Texan recognized a self-important young 
jackass who had found work with one of the smaller 
outfits. 

“It’s that mouthy young short-horn from the 
K 2, ” he muttered, disgustedly. “Well, he’ll sure 
cut loose an’ earful of small talk. He hates him¬ 
self, like a peacock.” The cowboy pulled up his 
horse with a vicious jerk that pinked the foam at 
the animal’s mouth and caused a little cloud of 
dust to rise into the air. Then, for a moment, he 
sat and stared. 


The Texan Hears Some News 293 


“ If you was in such a hell of a hurry, ” drawled 
the Texan, “you could of rode around me. There’s 
room on either side. ’’ 

The cowboy found his voice. “Well, by gosh, 
if it ain’t Tex! How they stackin’, old hand?” 

“Howdy,” replied the Texan, dryly. 

“You take my advice an’ lay low here in the bad 
lands an’ they won’t ketch you. I said it right in 
the Long Horn yeste’day mornin’—they was a 
bunch of us lappin’ ’em up. Old Pete was there— 
an’ I says to Pete, I says, ‘Take it from me they 
might ketch all the rest of ’em but they won’t never 
ketch Tex!’ An’ Pete, he says, ‘You’re just right 
there, Joe, ’ an’ then he takes me off to one side, 
old Pete does, an’ he says, ‘Joe,’ he says, ‘I’ve 
got a ticklish job to be done, an’ I ain’t got another 
man I kin bank on puttin’ it through. ’ ” 

The Texan happened to know that Mr. Peter 
G. Kester, owner of the K 2, was a very dignified 
old gentleman who left the details of his ranch en¬ 
tirely in the hands of his foreman, and the idea 
of his drinking in the Long Horn with his cowboys 
was as unique as was hearing him referred to as 
“Old Pete.” 

“What’s ailin’ him?” asked the Texan. “Did he 
lose a hen, or is he fixin’ to steal someone’s mewl? ” 


294 


The Texan 


“ It’s them Bar A saddle horses, ” continued the 
cowboy, without noticing the interruption. “He 
buys a string of twenty three-year-olds offen the 
Bar A an’ they broke out of the pasture. They 
range over here on the south slope, an’ if them 
horse-thieves down in the bad lands has got ’em 
they’re a-goin’ to think twict before they run off 
any more K 2 horses, as long as I’m workin’ fer 
the outfit.” 

“Are you aimin’ to drive twenty head of horses 
off their own range single handed? ” 

1 1 Sure. Y ou can doit easy if you savvy horses. ’ ’ 
The Texan refrained from comment. He wanted 
to know who was supposed to be interested in 
catching him, and why. Had someone told the 
truth about the lynching, and was he really wanted 
for aiding and abetting the pilgrim’s escape? 

“ I reckon that’s true,” he opined. “They can’t 
get me here in the bad lands. ” 

The other laughed: “You bet they can’t! Say, 
that was some ride you put up down to Wolf River. 
None of us could have done better. ” 

“Did you say they was headin’ this way?” 
“Who?” 

“Who would I be thinkin’ about now, I won¬ 
der?” 


The Texan Hears Some News 295 

‘‘Oh! Naw! They ain’t ready to make any 
arrests yet. The grand jury set special an’ re¬ 
turned a lot of indictments an’ you’re one of ’em, 
but the districk attorney, he claims he can’t go 
ahead until he digs up the cripus delinkty-” 

“The what?” 

“ Oh, that’s a nickname the lawyers has got fer a 
pilgrim.” 

“Wasn’t one stranglin’ enough for spreadin’ out 
Purdy ? What do they want of the pilgrim ? ’ ’ 

“Spreadin’ out Purdy!” exclaimed the other, 
“don’t you know that Purdy didn’t stay spread? 
Wasn’t hardly hurt even. The pilgrim’s bullet 
just barely creased him, an’ when Sam Moore went 
back with a spring wagon to fetch his remains, 
Purdy riz up an’ started cussin’ him out an’ scairt 
Sam so his team run away an’ he lost his voice an’ 
ain’t spoke out loud since—an’ them’s only one of 
the things he done. So, you see, you done your 
lynching too previous, an’ folks is all stirred up 
about it, holdin’ that lawless acts has got to be put 
a stop to in Choteau County, an’ a pilgrim has got 
as good a right to live as the next one. They’re 
holdin’ that even if he had got Purdy it would of 
be’n a damn good thing, an’ they wasn’t no call to 
stretch a man for that. So the grand jury set, an’ 


296 


The Texan 


the districk attorney has got a gang of men diggin 
up all the coulees for miles around, a-huntin’ for 
the pilgrim’s cripus delinkty so he kin go ahead 
with his arrests. ” 

The eyes of the Texan were fixed on the moun¬ 
tains. He appeared not interested. Twenty feet 
away in a deep crevice at the edge of the coulee, 
Bat Lajune, who had overheard every word, was 
convulsed with silent mirth. 

“You say they’ve dug up all the coulees? Red 
Rock an’—an’ all, Buffalo, Six-mile, Woodpile, 
Miller’s?” The Texan shot out the names with 
all appearance of nervous haste, but his eye was 
sombre as before as he noted the gleam of quick 
intelligence that flashed into the cowboy’s eyes. 
“You’re sure they dug up Buffalo?” he pressed 
shrewdly. 

“Yes, I think they finished there.” 

The Texan gave a visible sigh of relief. “ Say, ’’ 
he asked, presently, “do you know if they’re 
fordin’ at Cow Island this year?” 

“Yes, the Two Bar reps come by that way. ” 

“I’m right obliged to you. I reckon I’ll head 
north, though. Canada looks good to me ’til this 
here wave of virtue blows over. So long. ” 

“So long, Tex. An’, say, there’s some of us 


The Texan Hears Some News 297 


mends of youm that’s goin’ to see what we kin 
do about gettin’ them indictments squashed. We 
don’t want to see you boys doin’ time fer stretchin’ 
no pilgrim. ” 

“You won’t,” answered the Texan. “Toddle 
along now an’ hunt up Mr. Kester’s horses. I 
want room to think.” He permitted himself 
a broad smile as the other rode at a gallop toward 
the mountains, then turned his horse into the 
coulee he had just left and allowed him his own 
pace. 

“So Purdy ain’t dead,” he muttered, “or was 
that damned fool lyin’? I reckon he wasn’t 
lyin’ about that, an’ the grand jury, an’ the dis¬ 
trict attorney.” Again he smiled. “Let’s see 
how I stack up, now: In the first place, Win ain’t 
on the run, an’ I am—or I’m supposed to be. But, 
as long as they don’t dig Win up out of the bottom 
of some coulee, I’m at large for want of a party of 
the first part to the alleged felonious snuffin’-out. 
Gosh, I bet the boys are havin’ fun watchin’ that 
diggin’. If I was there I’d put in my nights 
makin’ fresh-dug spots, an’ my days watchin’ ’em 
prospect ’em.” Then his thoughts turned to the 
girl, and for miles he rode unheeding. The sun 
had swung well to the westward before the cowboy 


298 


The Texan 


took notice of his surroundings. Antelope Butte 
lay ten or twelve miles away and he headed for it 
with a laugh. “You must have thought I sure 
enough was headin' for Cow Island Crossing didn’t 
you, you old dogie chaser? ” He touched his horse 
lightly with his spurs and the animal struck into 
a long swinging trot. 

“This here’s a mixed-up play all around,” he 
muttered. “Win’s worryin’ about killin’ Purdy— 
says it’s got under his hide ’til he thinks about it 
nights. It ain’t so much bein’ on the run that 
bothers him as it is the fact that he’s killed a man. ” 
He smiled to himself: “A little worryin’ won’t 
hurt him none. Any one that would worry over 
shootin’ a pup like Purdy ought to worry— 
whether he done it or not. Then, there’s me. I 
start out with designs as evil an’ triflin’ as Purdy’s 
—only I ain’t a brute—an’ I winds up by lovin’ her. 
Yes—that’s the word. There ain’t no mortal use 
beat in’ around the bush to fool myself. Spite of 
silk stockin’s she’s good clean through. I reckon, 
maybe, they’re wore more promiscuous in the East. 
That Eagle Creek Ranch, if them corrals was fixed 
up a little an’ them old cattle sheds tore down, an’ 
the ditches gone over, it would be a good outfit. 
If it was taken hold of right, there wouldn’t be a 


The Texan Hears Some News 299 


better proposition on the South Slope.” Gloom 
settled upon the cowboy’s face: “But there’s Win. 
I started out to show him up. ” He smiled grimly. 
“Well, I did. Only not just exactly as I allowed 
to. Lookin’ over the back-trail, I reckon, when 
us four took to the brush there wasn’t only one 
damned skunk in the crowd—an’ that was me. 
It’s funny a man can be that ornery an’ never 
notice it. But, I bet Bat knew. He’s pure gold, 
Bat is. He’s about as prepossessin’ to look at as 
an old gum boot, but his heart’s all there—an’ 
you bet, Bat, he knows. ” 

It was within a quarter of a mile of Antelope 
Butte that the Texan, riding along the bottom of a 
wide coulee met another horseman. This time 
there was no spurring toward him, and he noticed 
that the man’s hand rested near his right hip. He 
shifted his own gun arm and continued on his 
course without apparently noticing the other who 
approached in the same manner. 

Suddenly he laughed: “Hello, Curt!” 

“Well, I’m damned if it ain’t Tex! Thought 
maybe I was going to get the high-sign. ” 

“Same here.” Both men relaxed from their 
attitude of alertness, and Curt leaned closer. 

“They ain’t dug him up yet,” he said, “but 


300 


The Texan 


they sure are slingin’ gravel. I hope to God the^ 
don’t. ” 

“They won’t. ” 

“Anything I can do?” 

The Texan shook his head: “Nothin’, thanks. ” 

“Hot as hell fer June, ain’t it. ” 

“Yes; who you ridin’ for?” 

“K 2. ” 

“K 2! Mister Kester moved his outfit over to 
the south slope?” 

“ Naw. I’m huntin’ a couple of old brood mares 
Mister Kester bought offen the Bar A. They 
strayed away about a week ago. ” 

“Alone?” 

“Might better be,” replied the cowboy in tones of 
disgust. “ I’ve got that damned fool, Joe Ainslee, 
along—or ruther I had him. Bob Brumley’s fore¬ 
man of the K 2, now, an’ he hired the Wind Bag in 
a moment of mental abortion, as the fellow says, 
an’ he don’t dast fire him for fear he’ll starve to 
death. They wouldn’t no other outfit have him 
around. An’ I’m thinkin’ he’ll be damn lucky if 
he lives long enough to starve to death. Bob sent 
him along with me—said he’d do less harm than 
with the round-up, an’ would be safer—me bein’ 
amiable enough not to kill him offhand. ” 


The Texan Hears Some News 301 


“Ain't you found your mares?” 

Curt snorted: “Yes. Found ’em couple hours 
ago. An’ now I’ve lost the Wind Bag. Them 
mares was grazin’ right plumb in plain sight of 
where I’d sent him circlin’, an’ doggone if he not 
only couldn’t find ’em, but he’s lost hisself. An’ 
if he don’t show up pretty damn pronto he kin stay 
lost—an’ the K 2 will win, at that. ” 

The Texan grinned: “Go get your mares, Curt. 
The short-horn has stampeded. I shouldn’t won¬ 
der if he’s a-foggin’ it through the mountains right 
now to get himself plumb famous for tippin’ off 
the district attorney where to do his minin’. ” 
“You seen him!” 

“Yes, we had quite a little pow-wow. ” 

“You sure didn’t let him git holt of nothin’!” 
“Yes. He’s about to bust with the information 
he gathered. An’ say, he might of seen them 
mares an’ passed ’em up. He ain’t huntin’ no 
brood mares, he’s after twenty head of young 
saddle stock—forgot to mention there was any one 
with him. Said it was easy to run three-year-olds 
off their own range single handed if you savvied 
horses. Called Mister Kester ‘ Old Pete ’ an’ told 
of an orgy they had mutual in the Long Horn.” 
Curt burst out laughing: “Can you beat it?” 


302 


The Texan 


“I suppose they’ll have Red Rock Coulee all 
mussed up, ” reflected the Texan, with a grin. 

“You wait ’til I tell the boys. ” 

“ Don’t you. They’d hurt him. He’s a-whirlin'' 
a bigger loop than he can throw, the way it is. ” 

Curt fumbled in his slicker and produced a flask 
which he tendered. 

Tex shook his head: “No thanks, I ain’t 
drinkin’.” 

“You ain’t what?” 

“No, I’m off of it ”; he dismounted and tightened 
his cinch, and the other followed his example. 

“Off of it! You ain’t sick, or nothin’?” 

“No. Can’t a man-?” 

“Oh, sure, he could, but he wouldn’t, onless— 
you got your camp near here ? ’ ’ 

Tex was aware the other was eyeing him closely. 

“Tolerable.” 

“Let’s go camp then. I left my pack horse 
hobbled way up on Last Water. ” 

The Texan was thinking rapidly. Curt was a 
friend of long standing and desired to share his 
camp, which is the way of the cow country. Yet, 
manifestly this was impossible. There was only 
one way out and that was to give offence. 

“No. I’m campin’ alone these days.” 


The Texan Hears Some News 303 


A slow red mounted to the other’s face and his 
voice sounded a trifle hard: “ Come on up to mine, 
then. It ain’t so far.” 

“I said I was campin’ alone.” 

The red was very apparent now,'and the other 
took a step forward, and his words came slowly: 
“Peck Maguire told me, an’ I shut his dirty 
mouth for him. But now I know it’s true. You’re 
ridin’ with the pilgrim’s girl.” 

At the inference the Texan whitened to the 
eyes. “ You're a damned liar /” The words came 
evenly but with a peculiar venom. 

Curt half drew his gun. Then jammed it back 
in the holster. “Not between friends,” he said 
shortly, “but jest the same you’re goin’ to eat 
them words. It ain’t a trick I’d think of you—to 
run off with a man’s woman after killin’ him. If 
he was alive it would be different. I’d ort to shoot 
it out with you, I suppose, but I can’t quite forget 
that time in Zortman when you-” 

* Don’t let that bother you, ” broke in the Texan 
with the same evenness of tone. “ You're a 
damned liar!" 

With a bound the man was upon him and Tex 
saw a blinding flash of light, and the next moment 
he was scrambling from the ground. After that 


3<>4 


The Texan 


the fight waxed fast and furious, each man 
giving and receiving blows that landed with a 
force that jarred and rocked. Then, the Texan 
landed heavily upon the point of his opponent’s 
chin and the latter sank limp to the floor of the 
coulee. For a full minute Tex stood looking down 
at his victim. 

“Curt can scrap like the devil. I’m sure glad 
he didn’t force no gun play, I’d have hated to hurt 
him.” He recovered the flask from the ground 
where the other had dropped it, and forced some 
whiskey between his lips. Presently the man 
opened his eyes. 

“Feelin’ better?” asked the Texan as Curt 
blinked up at him. 

“Um-hum. My head aches some. ” 

“Mine, too.” 

“You got a couple of black eyes, an’ your lip is 
swol up. ” 

“ One of yours is turnin’ black. ” 

Curt regained his feet and walked slowly toward 
his horse. “Well, I’ll be goin’. So long. ” 

“So long,” answered the Texan. He, too, 
swung into the saddle and each rode upon his way. 


CHAPTER XVI 


BACK IN CAMP 

From their place of concealment high upon the 
edge of Antelope Butte, Alice Marcum and 
Endicott watched the movements of the three 
horsemen with absorbing interest. They saw the 
Texan circle to the south-eastward and swing north 
to intercept the trail of the unknown rider. They 
watched Bat, with Indian cunning, creep to his 
place of concealment at the edge of the coulee. 
They saw the riders disperse, the unknown to head 
toward the mountains at a gallop, and the Texan 
to turn his horse southward and ride slowly into 
the bad lands. And they watched Bat recover his 
own horse from behind a rock pinnacle and follow 
the Texan, always keeping out of sight in parallel 
coulees until both were swallowed up in the ame¬ 
thyst haze of the bad lands. 

For an hour they remained in their lookout, 
pointing out to each other some new wonder of the 
305 


20 


306 


The Texan 


landscape—a wind-carved pinnacle, the helio 
graphic flashing of the mica, or some new combi¬ 
nation in the ever-changing splendour of colours. 

“Whew! But it's hot, and I’m thirsty. And 
besides it's lunch time.” Alice rose, and with 
Endicott following, made her way to the camp. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she breathed, as they ate 
their luncheon. “This life in the open—the pure 
clean air—the magnificent world all spread out 
before you, beckoning you on, and on, and on. 
It makes a person strong with just the feel of liv¬ 
ing—the joy of it. Just think, Winthrop, of 
being able to eat left-over biscuits and cold bacon 
and enjoy it!” 

Endicott smiled: “Haven’t I improved enough, 
yet, for ‘Win’?—Tex thinks so.” 

The girl regarded him critically. “I have a 
great deal of respect for Tex’s judgment,” she 
smiled. 

“Then, dear, I am going to ask you again, the 
question I have asked you times out of number: 
Will you marry me?” 

“Don’t spoil it all, now, please. I am enjoying 
it so. Enjoying being here with just you and the 
big West. Oh, this is the real West—the West of 
which I’ve dreamed!” 


Back in Camp 


307 


Endicott nodded: “Yes, this is the West. You 
were right, Alice. California is no more the West 
than New York is. ” 

Don’t you love it ? ” The girl’s eyes were shin¬ 
ing with enthusiasm. 

“Yes. I love it, ” he answered, and she noticed 
that his face was very grave. “There must be 
something—some slumbering ego in every man 
that awakens at the voice of the wild places. Our 
complex system of civilization seems to me, as I 
sit here now, a little thing—a thing, somehow, 
remote—unnecessary, and very undesirable. ” 

“Brooklyn seems very far away,” murmured 
the girl. 

“And Cincinnati—but not far enough away. 
We know they are real—that they actually exist. ” 
Endicott rose and paced back and forth. Sud¬ 
denly he stopped before the girl. “Marry me, 
Alice, and I’ll buy a ranch and we will live out here, 
and for us Brooklyn and Cincinnati need never 
exist. I do love it all, but I love you a thousand 
times more.” 

To Endicott’s surprise the girl’s eyes dropped 
before his gaze and rested for a long time upon the 
grazing horses—then abruptly she buried her face 
in her arms. The man had half expected a return 


3°8 


The Texan 


to the light half-mocking raillery that had been her 
staunchest weapon, but there was nothing even 
remotely suggestive of raillery in the figure that 
huddled at his feet. Suddenly, his face became 
very grave: “Alice,” he cried, bending over her, 
“is it because my hands are red? Because I have 
taken a human life, and am flying from the hand of 
the law like a common murderer?” 

“No, no, no! Not that? I-” 

Swiftly he gathered her into his arms, but she 
freed herself and shook her head in protest. 
“Don’t please,” she pleaded softly. “Oh, I—I 
can’t choose.” 

“Choose!” cried Endicott. “Then there is— 
someone else? You have found—” he stopped 
abruptly and drew a long breath. “I see,” he 
said, gently, “I think I understand.” 

The unexpected gentleness of the voice caused 
the girl to raise her head. Endicott stood as he 
had stood a moment before, but his gaze was upon 
the far mountains. The girl’s eyes were wet with 
tears: “Yes, I—he loves me—and he asked me to 
marry him. He said I would marry either you or 
him, and he would wait for me to decide—until 
I was sure.” Her voice steadied, and Endicott 
noticed that it held a trace of defensive. “He’s a 



Back in Camp 


309 


dear, and—I know—way down in his heart he’s 
good—he’s-” 

Endicott smiled: “Yes, little girl, he is good. 
He’s a man—every inch of him. And he’s a man 
among men. He’s honest and open hearted and 
human. There is not a mean hair in his head. 
And he stands a great deal nearer the top of his 
profession than I do to the top of mine. I have 
been a fool, Alice. I can see now what a compla¬ 
cent fool and a cad I must have been—when I 
could look at these men and see nothing but un¬ 
couthness. But, thank God, men can change-” 

Impulsively the girl reached for his hand: “ No, ” 
she murmured, remembering the words of the 
Texan, “no, the man was there all the time. 
The real man that is you was concealed by the un¬ 
real man that is superficiality.” 

“Thank you, Alice,” he said gravely. “And 
for your sake—and I say it an all sincerity—let the 
best man win!” 

The girl smiled up into his face: “And in all 
sincerity I will say that in all your life you have 
never seemed so—so marryable as you do right 
now. ” 

While Endicott cut a supply of fire-wood and 
tinkered about the spring, the girl made a complete 



3 io 


The Texan 


circuit of the little plateau, and as the shadows be¬ 
gan to lengthen they once more climbed to their 
lookout station. For an hour the vast corrugated 
plane before them showed no sign of life. Sud¬ 
denly the girl’s fingers clutched Endicott’s arm 
and she pointed to a lone horseman who rode from 
the north. 

“ I wonder if he’s the same one we saw before—■ 
the one who rode away so fast? ” 

“Not unless he has changed horses,’’ answered 
Endicott. “The other rode a grey. ’’ 

The man swung from his horse and seemed to be 
minutely studying the ground. Then he mounted 
and headed down the coulee at a trot. 

“Look! There is Tex!’’ cried Endicott, and he 
pointed farther down the same coulee. A sharp 
bend prevented either rider from noticing the 
approach of the other. 

“Oh, I wonder who it is, and what will happen 
when they see each other ? ’ ’ cried the girl. “ Look! 

There is Bat. Near the top of that ridge. He’s 
cutting across so he’ll be right above them when 
they meet.” She was leaning forward watching 
breathlessly the movements of the three horsemen. 
“It is unreal. Just like some great spectacular 
play. You see the actors moving through their 


Back in Camp 


3 ii 

parts and you wonder what is going to happen 
next and how it is all going to work out. ” 

“There! They see each other!” Endicott ex¬ 
claimed. Each horseman pulled up, hesitated a 
moment, and rode on. Distance veiled from the 
eager onlookers the significant detail of the shifted 
gun arms. But no such preclusion obstructed 
Bat’s vision as he lay flattened upon the rim of the 
coulee with the barrel of his six-gun resting upon 
the edge of a rock, and its sights lined low upon 
the stranger’s armpit. 

“They’ve dismounted,” observed Alice, “I 
believe Tex is goiijg to unsaddle. ” 

“Tightening his cinch, ” ventured Endicott, and 
was interrupted by a cry from the lips of the girl. 

“Look! The other! He’s going to shoot— 
Why, they’re fighting!” Fighting they certainly 
were, and Endicott stared in surprise as he saw the 
Texan knocked down and then spring to his feet 
and attack his assailant with a vigour that ren¬ 
dered impossible any further attempt to follow the 
progress of the combat. 

“Why doesn’t Bat shoot, or go down there and 
help him?” cried the girl, as with clenched fists 
she strained her eyes in a vain effort to see who was 
proving the victor. 


312 


The Texan 


‘‘This does not seem to be a shooting affair,” 
Endicott answered, “and it is my own private opin¬ 
ion that Tex is abundantly able to take care of him¬ 
self. Ah—he got him that time! He’s down for 
the count! Good work, Tex, old man! A good 
clean knockout!” 

The two watched as the men mounted and rode 
their several ways—the stranger swinging north¬ 
ward toward the mountains, and the Texan follow¬ 
ing along the south face of the butte. 

“ Some nice little meetings they have out here, ” 
grinned Endicott. “I wonder if the vanquished 
one was a horse-thief or just an ordinary friend. ” 

Alice returned the smile: “You used to rather 
go in for boxing in college, didn’t you? ” 

“Oh, yes. I can hold my own when it comes to 
fists-’’ 

“And—you can shoot.” 

The man shook his head: “Do you know that 
was the first time I ever fired a pistol in my life. 
I don’t like to think about it. And yet—I am 
always thinking about it! I have killed a man— 
have taken a human life. I did it without malice 
—without forethought. All I knew w T as that you 
were in danger, then I saw him fling you from 
him—the pistol was in my hand, and I fired. ” 



Back in Camp 


3i3 


“ You need have no regrets, ” answered the girl, 
quickly. “ It was his life or both of ours—worse 
than that—a thousand times worse.” 

Endicott was silent as the two turned toward 
the plateau. “Why, there’s Bat’s horse, trotting 
over to join the others, and unsaddled, too, ” cried 
Alice. “He has beaten Tex to camp. Bat is a 
dear, and he just adores the ground Tex walks on, 
or ‘rides on’ would be more appropriate, for I 
don’t think he ever walked more than a hundred 
feet in his life.” 

Sure enough, when they reached camp there sat 
the half-breed placidly mending a blanket, with 
the bored air of one upon whom time hangs heav¬ 
ily. He looked up as Endicott greeted him. 

“Mebbe-so dat better you don’ say nuttin’ 
’bout A’m gon’ ’way from here,” he grinned. 
“Tex she com’ ’long pret’ queek, now. Mebbe-so 
he t’ink dat better A’m stay roun’ de camp. 
But Voila! How A’m know he ain’ gon for git 
hurt?” 

“But he did—” Alice paused abruptly with the 
sentences unfinished, for the sound of galloping 
hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to see the 
Texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and 
bridle and turn the animal loose. 


3H 


The Texan 


“Oh,” she cried, as the man joined them after 
spreading his saddle blanket to dry. “Your eyes 
are swollen almost shut and your lip is bleeding!’’ 

“Yes,” answered the cowboy with a contortion 
of the stiff, swollen lip that passed for a smile. 
“ I rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder an’ 
run plumb against a hard projection.” 

“They certainly are hard—I have run against 
those projections myself,” grinned Endicott. 
“You see, we had what you might call ringside 
seats, and I noticed that it didn’t take you very 
long to come back with some mighty stiff project¬ 
ing yourself. ” 

“Yes. Him pastin’ me between the eyes that 
way, I took as an onfriendly act, an’ one I re¬ 
sented. ” 

“That wallop you landed on his chin was a 
beautiful piece of work. ” 

“Yes, quite comely.” The cowboy wriggled 
his fingers painfully. “But these long-horns 
that’s raised on salt-horse an’ rawhide, maintains 
a jaw on ’em that makes iron an’ granite seem right 
mushy. I didn’t figure I’d recount the disturbance, 
aimin’ to pass it off casual regardin’ the disfigurin’ 
of my profile. But if you-all witnessed the debate, 
I might as well go ahead an’ oncork the details. 


Back in Camp 315 

In the first place, this warrior is a deputy that's 
out after Win. ” 

The Texan glanced sharply at Bat who became 
suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, but the face 
of the half-breed was impassive—even sombre as 
he worked at the blanket. “It's all owin' to 
politics,” continued the cowpuncher, rolling and 
lighting a cigarette. “Politics, an’ the fact that 
the cow country is in its dotage. Choteau County 
is growin' effeminate, not to say right down effete 
when a lynchin’, that by rights it would be 
stretchin' its importance even to refer to it in 
conversation, is raised to the dignity of a political 
issue. As everyone knows, a hangin' is always 
a popular play, riddin’ the community of an 
ondesirable, an' at the same time bein' a warnin’ 
to others to polish up their rectitude. But it 
seems, from what I was able to glean, that this 
particular hangin' didn’t win universal acclaim, 
owin’ to the massacre of Purdy not bein’ deplored 
none. ” 

Once more the half-breed emitted a strangling 
cough, and Tex eyed him narrowly. “Somethin' 
seems to ail your throat.” 

“ Out , A’m swal’ de piece tabac'.” 

“ Well just hang onto it 'til it gets a little darker 


The Texan 


316 

an’ we’ll have supper, ” said the Texan, dryly, and 
resumed. 

“So there was some talk disparagin’ to the 
lynchin’, an’ the party that’s in, holdin’ its tenure 
by the skin of its teeth, an’ election cornin’ on, 
sided in with public opinion an’ frowned on the 
lynchin’, not as a hangin’, you onderstand, but 
because the hangin’ didn’t redound none to their 
particular credit—it not being legal an’ regular. 
All this is brewed while the dance is goin’ on, an’ 
by breakfast time next mornin’, there bein’ a full 
quorum of Republican war chiefs on hand, they 
pulls a pow-wow an’ instructs their deputies to 
round up the lynchers. This is done, barrin’ a 
few that’s flitted, the boys bein’ caught unawares. 
Well, things begun lookin’ serious to ’em, an’ as a 
last resort they decided to fall back on the truth. 
So they admits that there ain’t no lynchin’. They 
tells how, after they’d got out on the bench a piece 
they got to thinkin’ that the demise of Purdy 
ain’t a serious matter, nohow, so they turned him 
loose. ‘Where is he, then?’ says a county com¬ 
missioner. ‘Search us,’replies the culprits. ‘We 
just turned him loose an’ told him to vamoose. 
We didn’t stick around an’ herd him!’” Again 
Bat coughed, and the Texan glared at him. 


Back in Camp 


3i7 


“ Maybe a drink of water would help them lacer¬ 
ated pipes of youm, ”he suggested, “an’ besides 
it’s dark enough so you can start supper a-goin’. ” 

“But, ” said Endicott, “won’t that get the boys 
all into serious trouble for aiding and abetting a 
prisoner to escape? Accessories after the fact, is 
what the law calls them. ” 

“Oh Lord,” groaned the Texan inwardly. 
“If I can steer through all this without ridin’ 
into my own loop, I’ll be some liar. This on top 
of what I told ’em in Wolf River, an’ since, 
an’ about Purdy’s funeral—I dastn’t bog down, 
now!” 

“No, ” he answered, as he lighted another cigar¬ 
ette. “There comes in your politics again. You 
see, there was twenty-some-odd of us—an’ none 
friendless. Take twenty-odd votes an’ multiply 
’em by the number of friends each has got-r-an’ 
I reckon ten head of friends apiece wouldn’t 
overshoot the figure—an’ you’ve got between two 
hundred an’ three hundred votes—which is a 
winnin’ majority for any candidate among ’em. 
Knowin’ this, they wink at the jail delivery an’ 
cinch those votes. But, as I said before, hangin’ 
is always a popular measure, an’ as they want 
credit for youm, they start all the deputies they 


318 


The Texan 


got out on a still-hunt for you, judgin’ it not to be 
hard to find a pilgrim wanderin’ about at large. 
An’ this party I met up with was one of ’em. ” 

“ Did he suspect that we were with you? ” asked 
Alice, her voice trembling with anxiety. 

“Such was the case—his intimation bein’ audi¬ 
ble, and venomous. I denied it in kind, an’ one 
word leadin’ to another, he called me a liar. To 
which statement, although to a certain extent ver¬ 
acious, I took exception, an’ in the airy persiflage 
that ensued, he took umbrage to an extent that it 
made him hostile. Previous to this little alterca¬ 
tion, he an’ I had been good friends, and deemin’, 
rightly, that it wasn’t a shoo tin’ matter, he onder- 
took to back up his play with his fists, and he 
hauled off an’ smote me between the eyes before 
I’d devined his intentions. Judgin’ the move un¬ 
friendly, not to say right downright aggressive, I 
come back at him with results you-all noted. An’ 
that’s all there was to the incident of me showin’ 
up with black eyes, an’ a lip that would do for a 
pin cushion. ” 

All during supper and afterward while the half- 
breed was washing the dishes, the Texan eyed him 
sharply, and several times caught the flash of a 
furtive smile upon the habitually sombre face. 


Back in Camp 


3i9 


u He knows somethin’ mirthful, ” thought the cow¬ 
boy, “I noticed it particular, when I was flound¬ 
erin’ up to my neck in the mire of deception. The 
old reprobate ain’t easy amused, either.” 

Alice retired early, and before long Endicott, too, 
sought his blankets. The moon rose, and the 
Texan strolled over to the grazing horses. Return¬ 
ing, he encountered Bat seated upon a rock at some 
distance from camp, watching him. The half- 
breed was grinning openly now, broadly, and with 
evident enjoyment. Tex regarded him with a 
frown: ‘‘For a Siwash you’re plumb mirthful an’ 
joyous minded. In fact I ain’t noticed any one 
so wrapped up in glee for quite a spell. Suppose 
you just loosen up an’ let me in on the frivolity, an’ 
at the same time kind of let it appear where you 
put in the day. I mistrusted my packin’ a pair of 
purple ones wouldn’t give you the whoopin’ cough, 
so I just sauntered over an’ took a look at the 
cayuses. Youm’s be’n rode ’til he’s sweat under 
the blanket—an’ he ain’t soft neither. ” 

“ Oui , A’m fol’ ’long we’n you make de ride. 
A’m t’ink mebbe-so two better’n wan. ” 

“Well, I was weaned right young, an’ I don’t 

need no governess. After this you-” 

The half-breed shrugged: “A’m tink dat tarn 


320 


The Texan 


way back in Las Vegas dat dam* good t’ing ol f 
Bat fol’ ’long, or else, ba Goss, you gon’ to hell 
for sure.” 

“But that’s no sign I’ve always got to be close- 
herded. Did you sneak up near enough to hear 
what the short-horn said?” 

“Oui, A’m hear dat. She mak’ me laugh lak’ 

hell.” 

“ Laugh! I didn’t see nothin’ so damn hilarious 
in it. What do you think about Purdy ? ’ ’ 

“Am’ tink dat dam’ bad luck she no git keel. ” 
The half-breed paused and grinned: “De pilgrim 
she mak’ de run for nuttin’, an’ you got to ke’p 
on lyin’ an’ lyin’, an bye-m-bye you got so dam’ 
mooch lies you git los’. So far, dat work out pret’ 
good. De pilgrim gon’ ke’p on de run, ’cause he 
no lak’ for git stretch for politick, an’ you git mor’ 
chance for make de play for de girl. ” 

“What do you mean?” The Texan’s eyes 
flashed. “ I just knocked the livin’ hell out of one 
fellow for makin’ a crack about that girl. ” 

“Oui, A’m know ’bout dat, too. Dat was pret’ 
good, but nex’ tarn dat better you start in fightin’ 
fore you git knock clean across de coulee firs’. 
A’m lak dat girl. She dam’ fine ’oman, you bet. 
A’m no lak’ she git harm. ” 


Back in Camp 


321 


“See here, Bat,” interrupted the Texan, “no 
matter what my intentions were when I started 
out, they’re all right now. ” 

“Oui, A’m know dat, ’bout two day.” 

“ It’s this way, I be’n thinkin’ quite a bit the last 
couple of days there ain’t a thing in hellin’ around 
the country punchin’ other folks’ cattle for wages. 
It’s time I was settlin’ down. If that girl will take 
a long shot an’ marry me, I’m goin’ to rustle around 
an’ start an outfit of my own. I’ll be needin’ a 
man about your heft an’ complexion to help me 
run it, too—savvy?” 

The half-breed nodded slowly. 11 Out, all de 
tarn A’m say: ‘Some tarn Tex she queet de dam’ 
foolin’, an’ den she git to be de beeg man. ’ I ain’ 
tink you git dis ’oman, but dat don’ mak’ no differ’, 
som’ tarn you be de beeg man yet. Som’ nodder 
’oman com’ ’long-” 

“To hell with some other woman!” flared the 
Texan. “ I tell you I’ll have that girl or I’ll never 
look at another woman. There ain’t another 
woman in the world can touch her. You think 
you’re wise as hell, but I’ll show you!” 

The half-breed regarded him gloomily: “A’m 
tink dat ’oman de pilgrim ’oman. ” 

“Oh, you do, do you? Well, just you listen to 

31 



322 


The Texan 


me. She ain’t—not yet. It’s me an’ the pilgrim 
for her. If she ties to him instead of me, it’s all 
right. She’ll get a damn good man. Take me, 
an’ all of a sudden throw me into the middle of his 
country, an’ I doubt like hell if I’d show up as 
good as he did in mine. Whatever play goes on 
between me an’ the pilgrim, will be on the square— 
with one deck, an’ the cards on the table. There’s 
only one thing I’m holdin’ out on him, an’ that is 
about Purdy. An’ that ain’t an onfair advantage, 
because it’s his own fault he’s worryin’ about it. 
An’ if it gives me a better chance with her, I’m 
goin’ to grab it. An’ I’ll win, too. But, if I 
don’t win, I don’t reckon it’ll kill me. Sometimes 
when I get to thinkin’ about it I almost wish it 
would—I’m that damned close to bein’ yellow.” 

Bat laughed. The idea of the Texan being yel¬ 
low struck him as humorous. “I’m wonder how 
mooch more beeg lie you got for tell, eh? ” 

Tex was grinning now, “Search me. I had to 
concoct some excuse for getting ’em started—two 
or three excuses. An’ it looks like I got to keep on 
concoctin’ ’em to keep ’em goin’. But it don’t 
hurt no one—lyin’ like that, don’t. It don’t hurt 
the girl, because she’s bound to get one of us. It 
don’t hurt the pilgrim, because we’ll see him 


Back in Camp 


323 


through to the railroad. It don’t hurt you, be¬ 
cause you don’t believe none of it. An’ it don’t 
hurt me, because I’m used to it—an’ there you are. 
But that don’t give you no license to set around 
an’ snort an’ gargle while I’m tellin’ ’em. I got 
trouble enough keepin’ ’em plausible an’ ontangled, 
without you keepin’ me settin’ on a cactus for fear 
you’ll give it away. What you got to do is to 
back up my play—remember them four bits I 
give you way back in Los Vegas? Well, here’s 
where I’m givin’ you a chance to pay dividends on 
them four bits. ” 

Bat grinned: “You go ’head an’ mak’ you play. 
You fin’ out I ain’t forgit dat four bit. She ain’ 
mooch money—four bit ain’. But w’en she all 
you got, she wan hell of a lot . . . bien /” 


CHAPTER XVII 


IN THE BAD LANDS 

It was well toward noon on the following day 
when the four finally succeeded in locating the grub 
cache of the departed horse-thief. Nearly two 
years had passed since the man had described the 
place to Tex and a two-year-old description of a 
certain small, carefully concealed cavern in a rock- 
wall pitted with innumerable similar caverns is a 
mighty slender peg to hang hopes upon. 

“It’s like searching for buried treasure!” ex¬ 
claimed Alice as she pried and prodded among the 
rocks with a stout stick. 

“There won't be much treasure, even if we find 
the cache,” smiled Tex. “Horse thievin' had got 
onpopular to the extent there wasn’t hardly a 
livin’ in it long before this specimen took it up as a 
profession. “We'll be lucky if we find any grub 
in it.” 

A few moments later Bat unearthed the cache 
324 


In the Bad Lands 


325 


and, as the others crowded about, began to draw 
out its contents. 

u Field mice, ” growled Tex, as the half-breed 
held up an empty canvas bag with its comer 
gnawed to shreds. Another gnawed bag followed, 
and another. 

“We don’t draw no flour, nor rice, nor jerky, 
anyhow,” said the puncher, examining the bags. 
Nor bacon, either. The only chance we stand to 
make a haul is on the air-tights. ” 

“What are air-tights?” asked the girl. 

“Canned stuff—tomatoes are the best for this 
kind of weather—keep you from gettin’ thirsty. 
I’ve be’n in this country long enough to pretty 
much know its habits, but I never saw it this hot 
in June. ” 

“She feel lak’ dat dam’ Yuma bench, but here 
is only de rattlesnake. We don’ got to all de tarn 
hont de pizen boog. Dat ain’ no good for git so 
dam’ hot—she burn’ oop de range. If it ain’ so 
mooch danger for Win to git hang—” He paused 
and looked at Tex with owlish solemnity. “A’m 
no lak we cross dem bad lands. Better A’m lak 
we gon’ back t’rough de mountaine. ” 

“You dig out them air-tights, if there’s any in 
there, an’ quit your croakin’! ” ordered the cowboy. 


326 


The Texan 


And with a grin Bat thrust in his arm to the shoul¬ 
der. One by one he drew out the tins—eight 
in all, and laid them in a row. The labels had dis¬ 
appeared and the Texan stood looking down at 
them. 

“Anyway we have these,'’ smiled the girl, but 
the cowboy shook his head. 

“Those big ones are tomatoes, an’ the others are 
com, an’ peas—but, it don’t make any difference. ” 
He pointed to the cans in disgust: “See those ends 
bulged out that way? If we’d eat any of the stuff 
in those cans we’d curl up an’ die, pronto. Roll 
’em back, Bat, we got grub enough without ’em. 
Two days will put us through the bad lands 
an’ we’ve got plenty. We’ll start when the moon 
comes up.” 

All four spent the afternoon in the meagre shade 
of the bull pine, seeking some amelioration from 
the awful scorching heat. But it was scant pro¬ 
tection they got, and no comfort. The mer¬ 
ciless rays of the sun beat down upon the little 
plateau, heating the rocks to a degree that ren¬ 
dered them intolerable to the touch. No breath 
of air stirred. The horses ceased to graze and 
stood in the scrub with lowered heads and wide¬ 
spread legs, sweating. 


In the Bad Lands 


327 


Towards evening a breeze sprang up from the 
southeast, but it was a breeze that brought with it 
no atom of comfort. It blew hot and stifling like 
the scorching blast of some mighty furnace. For 
an hour after the sun went down in a glow of red 
the super-heated rocks continued to give off their 
heat and the wind swept, sirocco-like, over the little 
camp. Before the after-glow had faded from the 
sky the wind died and a delicious coolness per¬ 
vaded the plateau. 

“It hardly seems possible,” said Alice, as she 
breathed deeply of the vivifying air, “that in this 
very spot only a few hours ago we were gasping for 
breath. 

“You can always bank on the nights bein’ cold,” 
answered Tex, as he proceeded to build the fire. 
“We’ll rustle around and get supper out of the way 
an’ the outfit packed an’ we can pull our freight 
as soon as it’s light enough. The moon ought to 
show up by half-past ten or eleven, an’ we can make 
the split rock water-hole before it gets too hot for 
the horses to travel. It’s the hottest spell for 
June I ever saw and if she don’t let up tomorrow 
the range will be burnt to a frazzle. ” 

Bat cast a weather-wise eye toward the sky 
which, cloudless, nevertheless seemed filmed with 


328 


The Texan 


a peculiar haze that obscured the million lesser 
stars and distorted the greater ones, so that they 
showed sullen and angry and dull like the malig¬ 
nant pustules of a diseased skin. 

“ A’m t’ink she gon’ for bus' loose pret’ queek.” 

“Another thunder storm and a deluge of rain?” 
asked Alice. 

The half-breed shrugged: “I ain’ know mooch 
'bout dat. I ain’ t’ink she feel lak de rain. She 
ain’ feel good.” 

“Leave off croakin’, Bat, an’ get to work an’ 
pack,” growled the Texan. “There’ll be plenty 
time to gloom about the weather when it gets 
here. ” An hour later the outfit was ready for the 
trail. 

“Wish we had one of them African water-bags, ” 
said the cowboy, as he filled his flask at the spring. 
“But I guess this will do ’til we strike the water- 
hole.” 

“Where is that whiskey bottle?” asked Endi- 
cott. “We could take a chance on snake-bite, 
dump out the booze, and use the bottle for 
water.” 

The Texan shook his head: “I had bad luck 
with that bottle; it knocked against a rock an’ 
got busted. So we’ve got to lump the snake- 


In the Bad Lands 


329 


bite with the thirst, an’ take a chance on both 
of ’em.” 

“How far is the water-hole?” Alice asked, as 
she eyed the flask that the cowboy was making 
fast in his slicker. 

‘‘About forty miles, I reckon. We’ve got this, 
and three cans of tomatoes, but we want to go 
easy on ’em, because there’s a good ride ahead of 
us after we hit Split Rock, an’ that’s the only water, 
except poison springs, between here an’ the old 
Miszoo. ” 

Bat, who had come up with the horses, pointed 
gloomily at the moon which had just topped the 
shoulder of a mountain. “She all squash down. 
Dat ain’ no good she look so red.” The others 
followed his gaze, and for a moment all stared at 
the distorted crimson oblong that hung low above 
the mountains. A peculiar dull luminosity radi¬ 
ated from the misshapen orb and bathed the bad 
lands in a flood of weird murky light. 

“Come on, ” cried Tex, swinging into his saddle, 
“we’ll hit the trail before this old Python here finds 
something else to forebode about. For all I care 
the moon can turn green, an’ grow a hump like a 
camel just so she gives us light enough to see by. ” 
He led the way across the little plateau and the 


330 


The Texan 


others followed. With eyes tight-shut and hands 
gripping the saddle-horn, Alice gave her horse full 
rein as he followed the Texan’s down the narrow 
sloping ledge that answered for a trail. Nor did 
she open her eyes until the reassuring voice of the 
cowboy told her the danger was past. 

Tex led the way around the base of the butte 
and down into the coulee he had followed the pre¬ 
vious day. “We’ve got to take it easy this trip, ” 
he explained. “There ain’t any too much light 
an’ we can’t take any chances on holes an’ loose 
rocks. It’ll be rough goin’ all the way, but a good 
fast walk ought to put us half way, by daylight, 
an’ then we can hit her up a little better. ” The 
moon swung higher and the light increased some¬ 
what, but at best it was poor enough, serving only 
to bring out the general outlines of the trail and 
the bolder contour of the coulee’s rim. No breath 
of the wind stirred the air that was cold, with a 
dank, clammy coldness—like the dead air of a cis¬ 
tern. As she rode, the girl noticed the absence of 
its buoyant tang. The horses’ hoofs rang hollow 
and thin on the hard rock of the coulee bed, and 
even the frenzied yapping of a pack of coyotes, 
sounded uncanny and far away. Between these 
sounds the stillness seemed oppressive—charged 


In the Bad Lands 


33 i 


with a nameless feeling of unwholesome portent. 
“ It is the evil spell of the bad lands, ” thought the 
girl, and shuddered. 

Dawn broke with the moon still high above the 
western skyline. The sides of the coulee had 
flattened and they traversed a country of low- 
lying ridges and undulating rock-basins. As the 
yellow rim of the sun showed above the crest of a 
far-off ridge, their ears caught the muffled roar of 
wind. From the elevation of a low hill the four 
gazed toward the west where a low-hung dust- 
cloud, lowering, ominous, mounted higher and 
higher as the roar of the wind increased. The 
air about them remained motionless—dead. Sud¬ 
denly it trembled, swirled, and rushed forward to 
meet the oncoming dust-cloud as though drawn 
toward it by the suck of a mighty vortex. 

“Dat better we gon’ for hont de hole. Dat 
dust sto’m she raise hell. ” 

“Hole up, nothin’!” cried the Texan; “How 
are we goin’ to hole up—four of us an’ five horses, 
on a pint of water an’ three cans of tomatoes? 
When that storm hits it’s goin’ to be hot. We’ve 
just naturally got to make that water-hole! Come 
on, ride like the devil before she hits, because we’re 
goin’ to slack up considerable, directly. ” 


33 ^ 


The Texan 


The cowboy led the way and the others followed, 
urging their horses at top speed. The air was still 
cool, and as she rode, Alice glanced over her shoul¬ 
der toward the dust cloud, nearer now, by many 
miles. The roar of the wind increased in volume. 
“It's like the roar of the falls at Niagara,” she 
thought, and spurred her horse close beside the 
Texan’s. 

“Only seventeen or eighteen miles,” she heard 
him say, as her horse drew abreast. “The wind’s 
almost at our back, an’ that’ll help some. ” He 
jerked the silk scarf from his neck and extended it 
toward her. “Cover your mouth an’ nose with 
that when she hits. An’ keep your eyes shut. 
We’ll make it all right, but it’s goin’ to be tough. ” 
A mile further on the storm burst with the fury of 
a hurricane. The wind roared down upon them 
like a blast from hell. Daylight blotted out, and 
where a moment before the sun had hung like a 
burnished brazen shield, was only a dim lightening 
of the impenetrable fog of grey-black dust. The 
girl opened her eyes and instantly they seemed 
filled with a thousand needles that bit and seared 
and caused hot stinging tears to well between the 
tight-closed lids. She gasped for breath and her 
lips and tongue went dry. Sand gritted against 


In the Bad Lands 


333 


her teeth as she closed them, and she tried in vain 
to spit the dust from her mouth. She was aware 
that someone was tying the scarf about her head, 
and close against her ear she heard the voice of the 
Texan: “Breathe through your nose as long as 
you can an’ then through your teeth. Hang onto 
your saddle-horn, I’ve got your reins. An’ what¬ 
ever you do, keep your eyes shut, this sand will cut 
’em out if you don’t. ” She turned her face for an 
instant toward the west, and the sand particles 
drove against her exposed forehead and eyelids 
with a force that caused the stinging tears to flow 
afresh. Then she felt her horse move slowly, 
jerkily at first, then more easily as the Texan swung 
him in beside his own. 

“We’re all right now, ” he shouted at the top of 
his lungs to make himself heard above the roar of 
the wind. And then it seemed to the girl they rode 
on and on for hours without a spoken word. She 
came to tell by the force of the wind whether they 
travelled along ridges, or wide low basins, or narrow 
coulees. Her lips dried and cracked, and the fine 
dust and sand particles were driven beneath her 
clothing until her skin smarted and chafed under 
their gritty torture. Suddenly the wind seemed 
to die down and the horses stopped. She heard 


334 


The Texan 


the Texan swing to the ground at her side, and 
she tried to open her eyes but they were glued 
fast. She endeavoured to speak and found the 
effort a torture because of the thick crusting of 
alkali dust and sand that tore at her broken lips. 
The scarf was loosened and allowed to fall about 
her neck. She could hear the others dismounting 
and the loud sounds with which the horses strove 
to rid their nostrils of the crusted grime. 

“Just a minute, now, an’ you can open your 
eyes, ” the Texan’s words fell with a dry rasp of his 
tongue upon his caked lips. She heard a slight 
splashing sound and the next moment the grateful 
feel of water was upon her burning eyelids, as the 
Texan sponged at them with a saturated bit of 
cloth. 

“The water-hole!” she managed to gasp. 

“There’s water here,” answered the cowboy, 
evasively, “hold still, an’ in a minute you can 
open your eyes.” Very gently he continued to 
sponge at her lids. Her eyes opened and she 
started back with a sharp cry. The three men 
before her were unrecognizable in the thick masks 
of dirt that encased their faces—masks that showed 
only thin red slits for eyes, and thick, blood-caked 
excrescences where lips should have been. 


In the Bad Lands 


335 


“Water!” Endicott cried, and Alice was sure 
she heard the dry click of his tongue against the 
roof of his mouth. The girl saw that they were 
in a cavern formed by a mud crack whose walls had 
toppled together. Almost at her feet was a small 
pool, its surface covered with a film of dust. 
Endicott stepped toward it, but the Texan barred 
the way. 

“ Don’t drink that! It might be a poison spring 
—most of ’em are down here. It’s the meanest 
death there is, the bellyache an’ cramps that comes 
from drinkin’ poison water. Watch the horses. 
If they will drink it, we can. He led his horse to 
the pool into which the animal thrust his nose half 
way to the eyes. Only a moment he held it there, 
then with a thrash of disappointment that sent 
the water splashing over the dust-coated rocks, he 
raised his head and stood with the water dripping 
in streams from his muzzle. He pawed at the 
ground, shook his head wrathfully, and turned in 
disgust from the water-hole. 

“Poison,” announced the Texan. “We can 
rinse out our mouths with it an’ clean out our 
eyes an’ wash our faces, an’ do the same for the 
horses, but we can’t swallow not even a drop of it, 
or us an’ the angels will be swappin’ experiences 


336 


The Texan 


about this time tomorrow.” He turned to Alice: 
“Ladies first. Just take your handkerchief an’ 
wet it an’ swab out your mouth an’ when you’re 
through there’s a good drink of real water waitin’ 
for you in the flask. ” 

When she had done, the three men followed her 
example, and the Texan tendered the bottle: 
“Take all you need, there’s plenty,” he said. 
But she would take only a swallow which she held 
in her mouth and allowed to trickle down her 
throat. Endicott did the same and Bat, where¬ 
upon the cowboy replaced the cork to the bottle 
and was about to return it to his slicker when the 
girl caught his arm. 

“You didn’t drink any!” she cried, but he over¬ 
rode her protest. 

“ I ain’t thirsty, ” he said almost gruffly. “You 
better catch you a little rest, because as soon as we 
get these horses fixed up, we’re goin’ to pull out of 
here. ” The girl assayed a protest, but Tex turned 
abruptly away and the three fell to work removing 
the caked dust from the eyes and nostrils of the 
horses, and rinsing out their mouths. When 
they finished, Tex turned to Bat. 

“How far d’you reckon it is to the water-hole ?’ 9 
he asked. 


In the Bad Lands 


337 


The half-breed shrugged: “Mebbe-so fi’ mile, 
mebbe-so ten. I ain’ know dis place. A’m t’ink 
we los.’ ” 

“Lost!” snorted the Texan, contemptuously. 
“You’re a hell of an Injun, you are, to get lost in 
broad daylight in sight of the Bear Paws. I ain’t 
lost, if you are, an’ I tell you we camp at that 
water-hole tonight!” 

Again the half-breed shrugged: “I ain’ see no 
mountaine. I ain’ see no mooch daylight, neider. 
Too mooch de dam’ dus’—too mooch san’—too 
mooch de win’ blow. If we com’ by de water-hole, 
A’m t’ink dat dam’ lucky t’ing. ” 

Tex regarded him with disapproval: “Climb 
onto your horse, old Calamity Jane, an’ we’ll 
mosey along. A dry camp is better than this—at 
least nobody can crawl around in their sleep an’ 
drink a snifter of poison. ” He helped Alice from 
the ground where she sat propped against a rock 
and assisted her to mount, being careful to adjust 
the scarf over her nose and mouth. 

As the horses with lowered heads bored through 
the dust-storm the Texan cursed himself unmerci¬ 
fully. “This is all your fault, you damned four- 
flusher! You would run a girl—that girl, into a 
hole like this, would you? You low-lived skunk, 


4 


22 


338 


The Texan 


you! You think you’re fit to marry her, do you? 
Well, you ain't! You ain’t fit to be mentioned in 
the same language she is! You’ll get ’em all out 
of here or, by God, you’ll never get out yourself— 
an’ I’m right here to see that that goes! An’ 
you’ll find that water-hole, too! An’ after you’ve 
found it, an’ got ’em all out of this jack-pot, you’ll 
h’ist up on your hind legs an’ tell ’em the whole 
damn facts in the case, an’ if Win jumps in an’ 
just naturally mops up hell with you, it’ll be just 
w T hat you’ve got cornin’ to you—if he does a good 
job, it will.” Mile after mile the horses drifted 
before the wind, heads hung low and ears drooping. 
In vain the Texan tried to pierce the impenetrable 
pall of flying dust for a glimpse of a familiar land¬ 
mark. “We ought to be hittin’ that long black 
ridge, or the soda hill by now,” he muttered. “ If 
we miss ’em both—God!” 

The half-breed pushed his horse close beside 
him: “We mus’ got to camp, ” he announced with 
his lips to the Texan’s ear. “ De hosses beginnin’ 
to shake. ” 

“How far can they go?” 

“Camp now. Beside de cut-bank here. Dem 
hoss she got for res’ queek or, ba Goss, she 
die.” 


In the Bad Lands 


339 


Tex felt his own horse tremble and he knew the 
half-breed’s words were true. With an oath he 
swung into the sheltered angle of the cut-bank 
along which they were travelling. Bat jerked the 
pack from the lead-horse and produced clothing 
and blankets, dripping wet from the saturation he 
had given them in the poison spring. While the 
others repeated the process of the previous camp, 
Bat worked over the horses which stood in a 
dejected row with their noses to the base of the 
cut-bank. 

“We’ll save the water an’ make tomatoes do,” 
announced the Texan, as with his knife he cut a 
hole in the top of a can. This storm is bound to 
let up pretty quick an’ then we’ll hit for the water- 
hole. It can’t be far from here. We’ll tap two 
cans an’ save one an’ the water—the flask’s half 
full yet. ” 

Never in her life, thought Alice, as she andEndi- 
cott shared their can of tomatoes, had she tasted 
anything half so good. The rich red pulp and the 
acid juice, if it did not exactly quench the burning 
thirst, at least made it bearable, and in a few min¬ 
utes she fell asleep protected from the all pervading 
dust by one of the wet blankets. The storm roared 
on. At the end of a couple of hours Bat rose and 


340 


The Texan 


silently saddled his horse. “ A’m gon’ for fin’ dat 
water-hole, ” he said, when the task was completed. 
“If de sto’m stop, a’right. If it don’ stop, you 
gon’ on in de momin’.” He placed one of the 
empty tomato cans in his slicker, and as he was 
about to mount both Endicott and Tex shook his 
hand. 

“Good luck to you, Bat,’’ said Endicott, with 
forced cheerfulness. The Texan said never a word, 
but after a long look into the half-breed’s eyes, 
turned his head swiftly away. 

Both Tex and Endicott slept fitfully, throwing 
the blankets from their heads at frequent intervals 
to note the progress of the storm. Once during 
the night the Texan visited the horses. The three 
saddle animals stood hobbled with their heads close 
to the cut-bank, but the pack-horse was gone. 
“Maybe you’ll find it, ’’ he muttered, but the best 
bet is, you won’t. I gave my horse his head for an 
hour before we camped, an’ he couldn’t find it.’’ 
Tex sat up after that, with his back to the wall of 
the coulee. With the first hint of dawn Endicott 
joined him. The wind roared with unabated fury 
as he crawled to the cowboy’s side. He held up 
the half-filled water flask and the Texan regarded 
him with red-rimmed eyes. 


In the Bad Lands 


341 


“This water/’ asked the man, “it’s for her, isn’t 
it?” Tex nodded. Without a word Endicott 
crawled to the side of the sleeping girl and gently 
drew the blanket from her face. He carefully 
removed the cork from the bottle and holding it 
close above the parched lips allowed a few drops of 
the warm fluid to trickle between them. The 
lips moved and the sleeping girl swallowed the 
water greedily. With infinite pains the man con¬ 
tinued the operation doling the precious water 
out a little at a time so as not to waken her. At 
last the bottle was empty, and, replacing the 
blanket, he returned to the Texan’s side. “She 
wouldn’t have taken it if she had known,” he 
whispered. “She would have made us drink 
some. ” 

Tex nodded, with his eyes on the other’s face. 
“An’ you’re nothin’ but a damned pilgrim!” he 
breathed, softly. Minutes passed as the two 
men sat silently side by side. The Texan spoke, 
as if to himself: “It’s a hell of a way to die— 
for her.” 

“We’ll get through somehow,” Endicott said, 
hopefully. 

Tex did not reply, but sat with his eyes 
fixed on the horses. Presently he got up, walked 


34 2 


The Texan 


over and examined each one carefully. “Only 
two of ’em will travel, Win. Yours is all in. ” He 
saddled the girl’s horse and his own, leaving them 
still hobbled. Then he walked over and picked 
up the empty tomato can and the bottle. 1 * You’ve 
got to drink,” he said, “or you’ll die—me, too. 
An’ maybe that water ain’t enough for her, either.” 
He drew a knife from his pocket and walked to 
Endicott’s horse. 

“What are you going to do?” cried the other, 
his eyes wide with horror. 

“It’s blood, or nothin’,” answered the Texan, 
as he passed his hand along the horse’s throat 
searching for the artery. 

Endicott nodded: “I suppose you’re right, but 
it seems—cold blooded.” 

“I’d shoot him first, but there’s no use wakin* 
her. We can tell her the horse died. ” There was 
a swift twisting of the cowboy’s wrist, the horse 
reared sharply back, and Endicott turned away 
with a sickening feeling of weakness. The voice 
of the Texan roused him: “Hand me the bottle 
and the can quick!” As he sprang to obey, Endi¬ 
cott saw that the hand the cowboy held tightly 
against the horse’s throat was red. The weak¬ 
ness vanished and he cursed himself for a fool 


In the Bad Lands 


343 


What was a horse—a thousand horses to the lives 
of humans—her life? The bottle was filled almost 
instantly and he handed Tex the can. 

“ Drink it—all you can hold of it. It won't 
taste good, but it's wet. ” He was gulping great 
swallows from the tin, as with the other hand he 
tried to hold back the flow. Endicott placed the 
bottle to his lips and was surprised to find that he 
emptied it almost at a draught. Again and again 
the Texan filled the bottle and the can as both in a 
frenzy of desire gulped the thick liquid. When, at 
length they were satiated, the blood still flowed. 
The receptacles were filled, set aside, and covered 
with a strip of cloth. For a moment longer the 
horse stood with the blood spurting from his throat, 
then with a heavy sigh he toppled sidewise and 
crashed heavily to the ground. The Texan fixed 
the cork in the bottle, plugged the can as best he 
could, and taking them, together with the remain¬ 
ing can of tomatoes, tied them into the slicker 
behind the cantle of his saddle. He swung the 
bag containing the few remaining biscuits to the 
horn. 

“Give her the tomatoes when you have to. 
You can use the other can—tell her that’s toma¬ 
toes, too. She’ll never tumble that it’s blood. ” 


344 


The Texan 


Endicott stared at the other: 4 ‘What do you 
mean?” 

“I mean that you had better wake her up, 
now, an’ get goin’. I’ll wait here for Bat. He’s 
probably found the spring by this time, an’ he’ll 
be moseyin’ along directly with water an’ the 
pack-horse. ” 

Endicott took a step toward him: “It won’t 
work, Tex,” he said, with a smile. “You don’t 
expect me to believe that if you really thought 
Bat would return with water, you would be send¬ 
ing us away from here into this dust-storm. No. 
I’m the one that waits for Bat. You go ahead 
and take her through, and then you can come back 
for me. ” 

The Texan shook his head: 44 1 got you into 
this deal, an’-” 

“You did it to protect me!” flared Endicott. 
44 I’m the cause for all this, and I’ll stand the gaff! ” 

The Texan smiled, and Endicott noticed that it 
was the same cynical smile with which the man had 
regarded him in the dance hall, and again as they 
had faced each other under the cottonwoods of 
Buffalo Coulee. 4 4 Since when you be’n runnin’ this 
outfit?” 

44 It don’t make any difference since when! The 


In the Bad Lands 


345 


fact is, I’m running it, now—that is, to the extent 
that I’ll be damned if you’re going to stay behind 
and rot in this God-forsaken inferno, while I ride 
to safety on your horse. ” 

The smile died from the cowboy’s face: “It 
ain’t that, Win. I guess you don’t savvy, but I do. 
She’s yours, man. Take her an’ go! There was a 
while that I thought—but, hell!” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” Endicott replied. 
“Only yesterday, or the day before, she told me 
she could not choose—yet.” 

“She’ll choose,” answered Tex, “an’ she won’t 
choose—me. She ain’t makin’ no mistake, neither. 
By God, I know a man when I see one!” 

Endicott stepped forward and shook his fist in 
the cowboy’s face: “It’s the only chance. You 
can do it—I can’t. For God’s sake, man, be sen¬ 
sible! Either of us would do it—for her. It is 
only a question of success, and all that it means; 
and failure—and all that that means. You know 
the country—I don’t. You are experienced in 
fighting this damned desert—I’m not. Any one 
of a dozen things might mean the difference be¬ 
tween life and death. You would take advantage 
of them—I couldn’t.” 

“You’re a lawyer, Win—an’ a damn good one. 


346 


The Texan 


I wondered what your trade was. If I ever run 
foul of the law, I’ll sure send for you, pronto. If 
I was a jury you’d have me plumb convinced—but, 
I ain’t a jury. The way I look at it, the case 
stands about like this: We can’t stay here, and 
there can’t only two of us go. I can hold out here 
longer than you could, an’ you can go just as far 
with the horses as I could. Just give them their 
head an’ let them drift—that’s all I could do. If 
the storm lets up you’ll see the Split Rock water- 
hole—you can’t miss it if you’re in sight of it, 
there’s a long black ridge with a big busted rock 
on the end of it, an’ just off the end is a round, 
high mound—the soda hill, they call it, and the 
water-hole is between. If you pass the water-hole, 
you’ll strike the Miszoo. You can tell that from 
a long ways off, too, by the fringe of green that 
lines the banks. And, as for the rest of it—I mean, 
if the storm don’t let up, or the horses go down, 
I couldn’t do any more than you could—it’s 
cashin’ in time then anyhow, an’ the long, long 
sleep, no matter who’s runnin’ the outfit. An’ 
if it comes to that, it’s better for her to pass her 
last hours with one of her own kind than with— 
me.” 

Endicott thrust out his hand: “I think any one 


In the Bad Lands 


347 


could be proud to spend their last hours with one 
of your kind, ” he said huskily. “ I believe we will 
all win through—but, if worse comes to worst—• 
Good Bye.” 

“So Long, Win, ” said the cowboy, grasping the 
hand. “Wake her up an’ pull out quick. 1’IJ 
onhobble the horses.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“win” 

Alice opened her eyes to see Endicott bending 
over her. “It is time to pull out, ” said the man 
tersely. 

The girl threw off the blanket and stared into 
the whirl of opaque dust. “The storm is still 
raging, ” she murmured. “Oh, Winthrop, do you 
know that I dreamed it was all over—that we were 
riding between high, cool mountains beside a 
flashing stream. And trout were leaping in the 
rapids, and I got off and drank and drank of the 
clear, cold water, and, why, do you know, I feel 
actually refreshed! The horrible burning thirst 
has gone. That proves the control mind has over 
matter—if we could just concentrate and think hard 
enough, I don’t believe we would ever need to be 
thirsty, or hungry, or tired, or cold, do you?” 

The man smiled grimly, and shook his head: 
“No. If we could think hard enough to accom* 
348 


“Win” 


349 


plish a thing, why, manifestly that thing would be 
accomplished. Great word—enough—the trouble 
is, when you use it, you never say anything. ” 

Alice laughed: “You're making fun of me. I 
don’t care, you know what I mean, anyway. 
Why, what’s the matter with that horse?’’ 

“He died—got weaker and weaker, and at last 
he just rolled over dead. And that is why we have 
to hurry and make a try for the water-hole, before 
the others play out. ” 

Endicott noticed that the Texan was nowhere 
in sight. He pressed his lips firmly: “It’s better 
that way, I guess, ” he thought. 

“But, that’s your horse! And where are the 
others—Tex, and Bat, and the pack-horse?” 

“They pulled out to hunt for the water-hole— 
each in a different direction. You and I are to 
keep together and drift with the wind as we have 
been doing. ” 

“And they gave us the best of it, ” she breathed. 
Endicott winced, and the girl noticed. She laid 
her hand gently upon his arm. “No, Winthrop, 
I didn’t mean that. There was a time, perhaps, 
when I might have thought—but, that was before 
I knew you. I have learned a lot in the past few 
days, Winthrop—enough to know that no matter 


350 


The Texan 


what happens, you have played a man’s part—with 
the rest of them. Come, I’m ready. ” 

Endicott tied the scarf about her face and as¬ 
sisted her to mount, then, throwing her bridle 
reins over the horn of his saddle as the Texan had 
done, he headed down the coulee. For three 
hours the horses drifted with the storm, following 
along coulees, crossing low ridges, and long level 
stretches where the sweep of the wind seemed at 
times as though it would tear them from the 
saddles. Endicott’s horse stumbled frequently, 
and each time the recovery seemed more and more 
of an effort. Then suddenly the wind died— 
ceased to blow as abruptly as it had started. The 
man could scarcely believe his senses as he lis¬ 
tened in vain for the roar of it—the steady, sullen 
roar, that had rung in his ears, it seemed, since the 
beginning of time. Thick dust filled the air but 
when he turned his face toward the west no sand 
particles stung his skin. Through a rift he caught 
sight of a low butte—a butte that was not near¬ 
by. Alice tore the scarf from her face. “It has 
stopped!” she cried, excitedly. “The storm is 
over!” 

“Thank God!” breathed Endicott, “the dust is 
beginning to settle.” He dismounted and swung 


“Win” 


35i 


the girl to the ground. “We may as well wait 
here as anywhere until the air clears sufficiently 
for us to get our bearings. We certainly must 
have passed the water-hole, and we would only 
be going farther and farther away if we pushed 
on. ” 

The dust settled rapidly. Splashes of sunshine 
showed here and there upon the basin and ridge, 
and it grew lighter. The atmosphere took on the 
appearance of a thin grey fog that momentarily 
grew thinner. Endicott walked to the top of a low 
mound and gazed eagerly about him. Distant 
objects were beginning to appear—bare rock- 
ridges, and low-lying hills, and deep coulees. In 
vain the man’s eyes followed the ridges for one 
that terminated in a huge broken rock, with its 
nearby soda hill. No such ridge appeared, and 
no high, round hill. Suddenly his gaze became 
rivetted upon the southern horizon. What was 
that stretching away, long, and dark, and winding? 
Surely—surely it was—trees! Again and again 
he tried to focus his gaze upon that long dark 
line, but always his lids drew over his stinging 
eyeballs, and with a half-sobbed curse, he dashed 
the water from his eyes. At last he saw it—the 
green of distant timber. “The Missouri—five 


352 


The Texan 


miles—maybe more. Oh God, if the horses hold 
out!” Running, stumbling, he made his way 
to the girl’s side. “It’s the river!” he cried. 
“The Missouri!” 

“Look at the horses!” she exclaimed. “They 
see it, too!” The animals stood with ears cocked 
forward, and dirt-caked nostrils distended, gazing 
into the south. Endicott sprang to his slicker, and 
producing the flask, saturated his handkerchief 
with the ^hick red liquid. He tried to sponge out 
the mouths and noses of the horses but they drew 
back, trembling and snorting in terror. 

“Why, it’s blood!” cried the girl, her eyes di¬ 
lated with horror. “From the horse that died,” 
explained Endicott, as he tossed the rag to the 
ground. 

“But, the water—surely there was water in the 
flask last night!” Then, of a sudden, she under¬ 
stood. “You—you fed it to me in my sleep, ” she 
faltered. “You were afraid I would refuse, and 
that was my dream! ” 

“Mind over matter,” reminded Endicott, with 
a distortion of his bleeding lips that passed for a 
grin. Again he fumbled in his slicker and with¬ 
drew the untouched can of tomatoes. He cut 
its cover as he had seen Tex do and extended 


“Win” 


353 


it to the girl. “Drink some of this, and if the 
horses hold out we will reach the river in a couple 
of hours.” 

“I believe it’s growing a little cooler since that 
awful wind went down,” she said, as she passed 
the can back to Endicott. “Let's push on, the 
horses seem to know there is water ahead. Oh, 
I hope they can make it!” 

“We can go on a-foot if they can't,” reassured 
the man. “It is not far.” 

The horses pushed on with renewed life. They 
stumbled weakly, but the hopeless, lack-lustre look 
was gone from their eyes and at frequent intervals 
they stretched their quivering nostrils toward the 
long green line in the distance. So slow was their 
laboured pace that at the end of a half-hour Endi¬ 
cott dismounted and walked, hobbling clumsily 
over the hot rocks and through ankle-deep drifts 
of dust in his high-heeled boots. A buzzard rose 
from the coulee ahead with silent flapping of wings, 
to be joined a moment later by two more of his 
evil ilk, and the three wheeled in wide circles above 
the spot from which they had been frightened. A 
bend in the coulee revealed a stagnant poison 
spring. A dead horse lay beside it with his head 
buried to the ears in the slimy water. Alice 


23 


354 


The Texan 


glanced at the broken chain of the hobbles that 
still encircled the horse’s feet. 

“It’s the pack-horse!” she cried. “ They have 
only one horse between them!” 

“Yes, he got away in the night.” Endicott 
nodded. “Bat is hunting water, and Tex is 
waiting. ” He carried water in his hat and dashed 
it over the heads of the horses, and sponged out 
their mouths and noses as Tex and Bat had done. 
The drooping animals revived wonderfully under 
the treatment and, with the long green line of 
scrub timber now plainly in sight, evinced an 
eagerness for the trail that, since the departure 
from Antelope Butte, had been entirely wanting. 
As the man assisted the girl to mount, he saw that 
she was crying. 

“They’ll come out, all right,” he assured her. 
“As soon as we hit the river and I can get a fresh 
horse, I’m going back. ” 

“Going back!” 

“Going back, of course—with water. You do 
not expect me to leave them? ” 

“No, I don’t expect you to leave them! Oh, 
Winthrop, I—” her voice choked up and the 
sentence was never finished. 

“Buck up, little girl, an hour will put us at the 


“Win” 


355 


river, ” he swung into the saddle and headed south¬ 
ward, glad of a respite from the galling, scalding 
torture of walking in high-heeled boots. 

Had Endicott combed Montana throughout its 
length and breadth he could have found no more 
evil, disreputable character than Long Bill Kear¬ 
ney. Despised by honest citizens and the rene¬ 
gades of the bad lands, alike, he nevertheless 
served these latter by furnishing them whiskey 
and supplies at exorbitant prices. Also, he boot¬ 
legged systematically to the Fort Belknap Indians, 
which fact, while a matter of common knowledge, 
the Government had never been able to prove. 
So Long Bill, making a living ostensibly by main¬ 
taining a flat-boat ferry and a few head of mangy 
cattle, continued to ply his despicable trade. 
Even passing cowboys avoided him and Long Bill 
was left pretty much to his own evil devices. 

It was the cabin of this scum of the outland that 
Endicott and Alice approached after pushing up 
the river for a mile or more from the point where 
they had reached it by means of a deep coulee that 
wound tortuously through the breaks. Long Bill 
stood in his doorway and eyed the pair sullenly 
as they drew rein and climbed stiffly from the 


356 


The Texan 


saddles. Alice glanced with disgust into the sallow 
face with its unkempt, straggling beard, and in¬ 
voluntarily recoiled as her eyes met the leer with 
which he regarded her as Endicott addressed 
him: 

“We’ve been fighting the dust storm for two 
days, and we’ve got to have grub and some real 
water, quick.” 

The man regarded him with slow insolence: 
“The hell ye hev,” he drawled; “Timber City’s 
only seven mile, ef ye was acrost the river. I 
hain’t runnin’ no hotel, an’ grub-liners hain’t 
welcome. ” 

“God, man! You don’t mean-” 

“ I mean, ef ye got five dollars on ye I’ll ferry ye 
acrost to where ye c’n ride to Timber City ef them 
old skates’ll carry ye there, an’ ef ye hain’t got the 
five, ye c’n swim acrost, or shove on up the river, 
or go back where ye come from.” 

Endicott took one swift step forward, his right 
fist shot into the man’s stomach, and as he doubled 
forward with a grunt of pain, Endicott’s left 
crashed against the point of his jaw with a force 
that sent him spinning like a top as he crumpled 
to the hard-trodden earth of the door-yard. 

‘‘ Good! ’ ’ cried Alice. ‘‘ It was beautifully done. 


“Win” 


357 


He didn’t even have a chance to shoot,” she 
pointed to the two 45 ’s that hung, one at either 
hip. 

“I guess we’ll just relieve him of those,” said 
Endicott, and, jerking the revolvers from their 
holsters, walked to his saddle and uncoiled the 
rope. Alice lent eager assistance, and a few mo¬ 
ments later the inhospitable one lay trussed hand 
and foot. “Now, we’ll go in and find something 
to eat, ” said Endicott, as he made fast the final 
hitch. 

The cabin was well stocked with provisions and, 
to the surprise of the two, was reasonably clean. 
While Alice busied herself in the cabin, Endicott 
unsaddled the horses and turned them into a small 
field where the vegetation grew rank and high and 
green beside a series of irrigation ditches. Passing 
the horse corral he saw that three or four saddle- 
horses dozed in the shade of its pole fence, and 
continued on to the river bank where he inspected 
minutely the ferry. 

“I guess we can manage to cross the river,” 
he told Alice, when he returned to the cabin; “I 
will breathe easier when I see you safe in Timber 
City, wherever that is. I am coming back after 
Tex. But first I must see you safe.” 


358 


The Texan 


The girl crossed to his side and as the man 
glanced into her face he saw that her eyes were 
shining with a new light—a light he had dreamed 
could shine from those eyes, but never dared hope 
to see. “No, Win,” she answered softly, and 
despite the mighty pounding of his heart the man 
realized it was the first time she had used that 
name. “You are not going back alone. I am 
going too. ” Endicott made a gesture of protest 
but she gave no heed. “From now on my place 
is with you. Oh, Win, can’t you see! I—I guess 
I have always loved you—only I didn’t know it. 
I wanted romance—wanted a red-blood man—a 
man who could do things, and-” 

“Oh, if I could come to you clean-handed!” 
he interrupted, passionately; “if I could offer 
you a hand unstained by the blood of a fellow 
creature!” 

She laid a hand gently upon his shoulder and 
looked straight into his eyes: “Don’t, Win,” she 
said; “don’t always hark back to that. Let us 
forget. ” 

“I wish to God I could forget!” he answered, 
bitterly. “I know the act was justified. I believe 
it was unavoidable. But—it is my New England 
conscience, I suppose . 99 


“Win” 


359 


Alice smiled: “ Don’t let your conscience bother 
you, because it is a New England conscience. 
They call you ‘the pilgrim' out here. It is the 
name they called your early Massachusetts fore¬ 
bears—and if history is to be credited, they never 
allowed their consciences to stand in the way of 
taking human life." 

“But, they thought they were right." 

“And you know you were right!" 

“ I know—I know! It isn’t the ethics—only the 
fact." 

“Don’t brood over it. Don’t think of it, dear. 
Or, if you must, think of it only as a grim duty 
performed—a duty that proved, as nothing else 
could have proved, that you are every inch a man." 

Endicott drew her close against his pounding 
heart. “It proved that the waters of the Erie 
Canal, if given the chance, can dash as madly 
unrestrained as can the waters of the Grand 
Canyon." 

She pressed her fingers to his lips: “Don’t make 
fun of me. I was a fool." 

“I’m not making fun—I didn’t know it myself, 
until—’’ the sentence was drowned in a series of 
yells and curses and vile epithets that brought 
both to the door to stare down at the trussed-up 


3^0 


The Texan 


one who writhed on the ground in a very paroxysm 
of rage. 

“Conscience hurting you, or is it your jaw?” 
asked Endicott, as he grinned into the rage-dis¬ 
torted features. 

“Git them hosses outa that alfalfy! You — 

-! I’ll hev th’ law on ye! I’ll shoot 

ye! I’ll drag yer guts out!” So great was the 
man’s fury that a thin white foam flecked his 
hate-distorted lips, and his voice rose to a high- 
pitched whine. Endicott glanced toward the two 
horses that stood, belly-deep, in the lush vege¬ 
tation. 

“They like it,” he said, calmly. “It’s the 
first feed they have had in two days.” The man’s 
little pig eyes glared red, and his voice choked in 
an inarticulate snarl. 

Alice turned away in disgust. * 1 Let him alone, ’ ’ 

she said, “and we will have dinner. I’m simply 
famished. Nothing ever looked so good to me 
in the wx'tld as that ham and potatoes and com 
and peas.” During the course of the meal, Endi¬ 
cott tried to dissuade the girl from her purpose of 
accompanying him on his search for Tex and the 
half-breed. But she would have it no other way, 
and finally, perforce, he consented. 


Leaving her to pack up some food, Endicott 
filled the water-bag that hung on the wall and, 
proceeding to the corral, saddled three of the 
horses. Through the open window of the cabin 
he could see the girl busily engaged in transferring 
provisions to a sack. He watched her as she 
passed and repassed the window intent upon her 
task. Never had she seemed so lovable, so unutter¬ 
ably desirable—and she loved him! With her 
own lips she had told him of her love, and with 
her own lips had placed the seal of love upon his 
own. Happiness, like no happiness he had ever 
known should be his. And yet—hovering over 
him like a pall—black, ominous, depressing—was 
the thing that momentarily threatened to descend 
and engulf him, to destroy this new-found happi¬ 
ness, haunt him with its diabolical presence, and 
crush his life—and hers. 

With an effort he roused himself—squared him¬ 
self there in the corral for the final battle with 
himself. “ It is now or never,” he gritted through 
clenched teeth. “Now, and alone. She won’t 
face the situation squarely. It is woman’s way, 
calmy to ignore the issue, to push it aside as the 
ill of a future day. ” 

She had said that he was right, and ethically, 


362 


The Texan 


he knew that he was right—but the fact of the 
deed remained. His hand had sped a soul to its 
God. 

Why? 

To save the woman he loved. No jury on earth 
would hold him guilty. He would surrender 
himself and stand trial. Then came the memory 
of what Tex had told him of the machinations of 
local politics. He had no wish to contribute his 
life as campaign material for a county election. 
The other course was to run—to remain, as he 
now was, a fugitive, if not from justice, at least 
from the hand of the law. This course would 
mean that both must live always within the men¬ 
ace of the shadow—unless, to save her from this 
life of haunting fear, he renounced her. 

His eyes sought the forbidding sweep of the bad 
lands, strayed to the sluggish waters of the Mis¬ 
souri, and beyond, where the black buttes of the 
Judith Range reared their massive shapes in the 
distance. Suddenly a mighty urge welled up 
within him. He would not renounce her! She 
was his! This was life—the life that, to him, had 
been as a sealed book—the fighting life of the 
boundless open places. It was the coward’s part 
to run. He had played a man’s part, and he would 


“Win” 


363 


continue to play a man’s part to the end. He 
would fight. Would identify himself with this 
West—become part of it. Never would he return 
to the life of the city, which would be to a life of 
fear. The world should know that he was right. 
If local politics sought to crush him—to use him 
as a puppet for their puny machinations, he would 
smash their crude machine and rebuild the poli¬ 
tics of this new land upon principles as clean and 
rugged as the land itself. It should be his work! 

With the light of a new determination in his 
eyes, he caught up the bridle-reins of the horses 
and pushed open the gateof the corral. As he 
led the animals out he was once more greeted with 
a volley of oaths and curses: “Put them back! 
Ye hoss-thief! I’ll have ye hung! Them’s mine, 
I tell ye!” 

“You’ll get them back,” assured Endicott. “I 
am only borrowing them to go and hunt for a 
couple of friends of mine back there in the bad 
lands.” 

“Back in the bad lands! What do ye know 
about the bad lands? Ye’ll git lost, an’ then 
what’ll happen to me? I’ll die like a coyote in a 
trap! I’ll starve here where no one comes along 
fer it’s sometimes a week—mebbe two!” 


3^ 4 


The Texan 


“It will be a long time between meals if any¬ 
thing should happen to us, but it will do you good 
to lie here and think it over. We’ll be back some¬ 
time.” Endicott made the sack of provisions 
fast to the saddle of the lead-horse, and assisted 
Alice to mount. 

“I’ll kill ye fer this!” wailed the man; “I’ll— 
I’ll—” but the two rode away with the futile 
threats ringing in their ears. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 

4 ‘How are we going to find them?” asked the 
girl, as the two drew their mounts to a stand on the 
top of a low ridge and gazed out over the sea of 
similar ridges that rolled and spread before them 
as far as the eye could reach in three directions— 
bare coulees, and barer ridges, with here and 
there a low bare hill, all black and red and grey, 
with studdings of mica flashing in the rays of the 
afternoon sun. 

“We’ll find them. We’ve got to. I have just 
been thinking: Living on the edge of the bad 
lands the way this man does he must occasionally 
cross them. Tex said that the Split Rock water- 
hole was the only one between the river and the 
mountains. We’ll start the horses out and give 
them their heads, and the chances are they will 
take us to the water-hole. In all probability 
Tex and Bat will be there. If they are not we will 
have to find them.” 


365 


366 


The Texan 


“Of course!” assented the girl. “Oh, Win, I’m 
so proud of you! I couldn’t be any prouder if 
you were a—a real cowboy!” Endicott laughed 
heartily, and urged his horse forward. The 
animals crossed several low ridges and struck into 
a coulee which they followed unhesitatingly. 
When it petered out in a wide basin, they struck 
into another coulee, and continued their course, 
covering the miles at a long, swinging trot. At 
sundown Endicott reined in sharply and pointed 
to the northward. “It’s the ridge of the Split 
Rock! ” he cried; “and look, there is the soda hill! ” 
There it was only a mile or two away—the long 
black ridge with the huge rock fragment at its 
end, and almost touching it, the high round hill 
that the Texan had described. 

The horses pressed eagerly forward, seeming to 
know that rest and water were soon to be theirs. 
“I wonder if they are there,” breathed the girl, 
“and I wonder if they are—all right.” 

A few minutes later the horses swung around the 
base of the hill and, with an exclamation of relief, 
Endicott saw two figures seated beside the de¬ 
tached fragment of rock that lay near the end of 
the ridge. 

The Texan arose slowly and advanced toward 


The End of the Trail 


367 


them, smiling: “Good evenin’,” he greeted, casu¬ 
ally, as he eyed the pair with evident approval. 
“You sure come a-runnin’. We didn’t expect 
you ’til along about noon tomorrow. And we 
didn’t expect you at all,” he said to the girl. 
“We figured you’d shove on to Timber City, an’ 
then Win would get a guide an’ come back in the 
momin’. ” 

Endicott laughed: “When I learned there was 
such a place as Timber City, I intended to leave 
her there and return alone—only I was not going 
to wait ’til morning to do it. But she wouldn’t 
hear of it, so we compromised—and she came with 
me.” 

Tex smiled: “It’s a great thing to learn how 
to compromise.” He stared for a few moments 
toward the west, where the setting sun left the 
sky ablaze with fiery light. Then, still smiling, 
he advanced toward them with both hands ex¬ 
tended: “I wish you luck,” he said, softly. “I 
cared for you a mighty lot, Miss Alice, but I’m 
a good looser. I reckon, maybe it’s better things 
worked out the way they did.” Endicott pressed 
the outstretched hand with a mighty grip and 
turned swiftly away to fumble at his latigo strap. 
And there were tears in the girl’s eyes as her 


368 


The Texan 


fingers lingered for a moment in the Texan’s 
grasp: “Oh, I—I’m sorry. I-” 

“You don’t need to be,” the man whispered. 
“You chose the best of the two.” He indicated 
Endicott with a slight jerk of the head. “You’ve 
got a real man there—an’ they’re oncommon hard 
to find. An’ now, if you’ve got some grub along 
suppose we tie into it. I’m hungry enough to 
gnaw horn!” 

As Alice proceeded to set out the food, the 
Texan’s eyes for the first time strayed to the 
horses. “How much did Long Bill Kearney soak 
you for the loan of his saddle-horses?” 

“Nothing,” answered Endicott, “and he sup¬ 
plied us with the grub, too.” 

“He, what?” 

“Fact,” smiled the other, “he demurred a 
little, but-” 

“Long Bill’s the hardest character in Choteau 
County. ” 

Endicott glanced at his swollen knuckles: “He 
is hard, all right. ” 

Tex eyed him in amazement, “Win, you didn’t 
—punch his head for him!” 

“ I did—and his stomach, too. We were nearly 
starved, and he refused us food. Told us to go 




The End of the Trail 


369 


back where we came from. So I reached for him 
and he dozed off. ” 

“But where was his guns?” 

“ I took them away from him before I tied him 
up.” 

“Where is he now?” 

“Tied up. He called me a lot of names because 
I turned the horses into his alfalfa. They were 
hungry and they enjoyed it, but Bill nearly blew 
up. Then we got dinner and took the horses and 
came away. ” 

“You're the luckiest man out of hell! You 
doggoned pilgrim, you!” Tex roared with laugh¬ 
ter: “Why accordin’ to dope, he’d ought to just 
et you up. ” 

“He whined like a puppy, when we left him, for 
fear we would get lost and he would starve to 
death. He is yellow.” 

“His kind always is—way down in their guts. 
Only no one ever made him show it before.” 

“How far did we miss the water-hole last night?” 
asked Endicott, as he and Tex sat talking after 
the others had sought their blankets. 

“About two miles. The wind drifted us to the 
east. Bat didn’t get far ’til his horse went down, 
so he bled him like we did, and holed up ’til the 


24 


370 


The Texan 


storm quit. Then, after things cleared up, we got 
here about the same time. The water ain’t 
much—but it sure did taste good.” For a long 
time the two lay close together looking up at the 
million winking stars. Tex tossed the butt of a 
cigarette into the grey dust. “She’s a great girl, 
Win. Game plumb to her boot heels.” 

“She is, that. I’ve loved her for a long time— 
since way back in my college days—but she 
wouldn’t have me,” 

“You hadn’t eamt her. Life’s like that—it’s 
ups an’ downs. But, in the long run, a man gets 
about what’s cornin’ to him. It’s like poker—in 
the long run the best player is bound to win. 
There’s times when luck is against him, maybe 
for months at a stretch. He’ll lose every time he 
plays, but if he stays with it, an’ keeps on playin’ 
the best he knows how, an’ don’t go tryin’ to force 
his luck by drawin’ four cards, an’ fillin’ three-card 
flushes, why, some day luck will change an’ he 
wins back all he’s lost an’ a lot more with it, be¬ 
cause there’s always someone in the game that’s 
thro win’ their money away drawin’ to a Judson.” 

“What is a Judson?” 

“Bill Judson was a major, an’ next to playin’ 
poker, he liked other things. Every time he’d 


The End of the Trail 


37 i 


get three cards of a suit in a row, he’d draw to ’em, 
hopin’ for a straight flush. That hope cost him, 
I reckon, hundreds of dollars, an’ at last he filled 
one—but, hell! Everyone laid down, an’ he 
gathered the ante.” The Texan rolled another 
cigarette. “An’ that’s the way it is with me—I 
tried to force my luck. I might as well own up to 
it right here an’ get it over with. You’ve be’n 
square, straight through, an’ I haven’t. I was 
stringin’ you with all that bunk about politics, 
an’ you bein’ sure to get hung for shootin’ Purdy. 
Fact is, the grand jury would have turned you loose 
as soon as your case come up. But, from the first 
minute I laid eyes on that girl, I wanted her. I’m 
bad enough, but not like Purdy. I figured if she'd 
go half-way, I’d go the other half. So I planned 
the raid on the wool-warehouse, an’ the fake 
lynchin’, purpose to get her out of town. I didn’t 
care a damn about you—you was just an excuse 
to get her away. I figured on losing you after we 
hit the mountains. The first jolt I got was in the 
warehouse, when we didn’t have to drag you out. 
Then I got another hell of a one in the coulee under 
the cottonwoods. Then they got to cornin’ so 
thick I lost track of ’em. An’ the first thing I 
knew I would have killed any man that would 


372 


The Texan 


look crossways at her . It come over me all of a 
sudden that I loved her. I tried to get out of it, 
but I was hooked. I watched close, an’ I saw that 
she liked me—maybe not altogether for what she 
thought I’d done for you. But you was in the 
road. I knew she liked you, too, though she 
wouldn’t show it. ‘Everything’s fair in love or 
war, ’ I kept sayin’ over an’ over to myself when 
I’d lay thinkin’ it over of nights. But, I knew it 
was a damned lie when I was sayin’ it. If you’d 
be’n milk-gutted, an’ louse-hearted, like pilgrims 
are supposed to be, there’d be’n a different story 
to tell, because you wouldn’t have be’n fit for her. 
But I liked you most as hard as I loved her. 
‘From now on it’s a square game,’ I says, so I 
made Old Man Johnson cough up that outfit of 
raiment, an’ made you shave, so she wouldn’t 
have to take you lookin’ like a sheep-herdin’ 
greaser, if she was a-goin’ to take you instead of 
me. After that I come right out an’ told her just 
where I stood, an’ from then on I’ve played the 
game square. The women ain’t divided up right in 
this world. There ought to have be’n two of her, 
but they ain’t another in the whole world, I reckon, 
like her; so one of us had to lose. An’, now, seem’ 
how I’ve lied you into all this misery, you ought 


The End of the Trail 


373 


to just naturally up an’ knock hell out of me. We’ll 
still keep the game fair an’ square. I’ll throw 
away my gun an’ you can sail in as quick as you 
get your sleeves rolled up. But, I doubt if you 
can get away with it, at that.” 

Endicott laughed happily, and in the darkness 
his hand stole across and gripped the hand of the 
Texan in a mighty grip: “ I wish to God there was 
some way I could thank you, ” he said. "Had it 
not been for you, I never could have won her. 
Why, man, I never got acquainted with myself 
until the past three days!” 

“There ain’t any posses out,” grinned Tex. 
“The fellow I met in the coulee there by Antelope 
Butte told me. They think you were lynched. 
He told me somethin’ else, too—but that’ll 
keep.” 

As they were saddling up, the following morn¬ 
ing, the Texan grinned: “I’ll bet old Long Bill 
Kearney’s in a pleasin’ frame of mind.” 

“He’s had time to meditate a little on his sins, ” 
answered Alice. 

“No—not Long Bill ain’t. If he started in 
meditatin’ on them, he’d starve to death before 
he’d got meditated much past sixteen—an’ he’s 
fifty, if he’s a day.” 


374 


The Texan 


4 ‘There are four of us and only three horses,” 
exclaimed Endicott, as he tightened his cinch. 

“That’s all right. The horses are fresh. I’m 
light built, an’ we’ll change off makin’ ’em carry 
double. It ain’t so far. ” 

The morning sun was high when the horses 
turned into the coulee that led to Long Bill’s 
ranch. Bat, who had scouted ahead to make 
sure that he had not succeeded in slipping his 
bonds and had plotted mischief, sat grinning 
beside the corral fence as he listened, unobserved, 
to the whimpering and wailing of the man who 
lay bound beside the cabin door. 

“What’s the matter, Willie?” smiled Tex, as 
he slipped from his seat behind Endicott’s saddle. 
“Didn’t your breakfast set right?” 

The man rolled to face them at the sound of the 
voice, and such a stream of obscene blasphemy 
poured from his lips as to cause even the Texan to 
wince. Without a word the cowboy reached for a 
bar of soap that lay awash in the filthy water of a 
basin upon a bench beside the door, and jammed it 
down the man’s throat. The sounds changed to a 
sputtering, choking gurgle. “Maybe that’ll learn 
you not to talk vile when there’s ladies around. ” 
“Water!” the man managed to gasp. 


The End of the Trail 


375 


“Will you quit your damn swearin’?” 

Long Bill nodded, and Tex held a dipper to his 
lips. 

“ Go catch up the horses, Bat, an’ we’ll be gettin’ 
out of here. They’s some reptiles so mean that 
even their breath is poison.” 

As Bat started for the alfalfa field the man fairly 
writhed with fury: “I’ll hev the law on ye, ye—” 
he stopped abruptly as Tex reached for the soap. 

“You won’t have the law on no one, you liz¬ 
ard! You don’t dare to get within hollerin’ 
distance of the law. ” 

“I will pay you a reasonable amount for any 
damage to your field, and for the food, and the 
use of your horses,” offered Endicott, reaching 
for his pocket. 

“Keep your money, Win,” grinned the Texan. 
“Let me pay for this. This coyote owes me 
twenty dollars he borrowed from me when I first 
hit the country an’ didn’t know him. Pie’s al¬ 
ways be’n anxious to pay it, ain’t you, Bill? Well, 
it’s paid now, an’ you don’t need to go worryin’ 
your heart out about that debt no longer.” 

Again the man opened his lips, but closed them 
hurriedly as Tex reached for the soap. 

“I’ll have to borrow your horse an’ saddle for 


37^ 


The Texan 


my friend, here,” said the Texan, “an" Bat, he'll 
have to borrow one, too. We’ll leave ’em in 
Timber City. ” 

“Non!" cried the half-breed, who had paused in 
the process of changing Alice’s saddle to her own 
horse. “Me—I ain’ gon’ for bor’ no hoss. Am 
tak’ dis hoss an’ giv’ heem back to Judge Carson. 
Him b’long over on Sage Creek. ” 

“Whad’ye mean, ye red scum!” screamed the 
man, his face growing purple. “That Circle 12 
brand is—-—” 

“Ha! Circle 12! De mos’ dat Circle 12 she hair- 
bran’. ” He stepped into the cabin and reappeared 
a moment later with some coal-oil in a cup. This 
he poured into his hand and rubbed over the brand 
on the horse’s shoulder. And when he had pressed 
the hair flat, the Circle 12 resolved itself into a V 2. 

The Texan laughed: “I suppose I ought to take 
you into Timber City, but I won’t. I imagine, 
though, when the Judge hears about this, you’d 
better be hittin’ the high spots. He’s right ugly 
with horse thieves.” 

“Hey, hain’t ye goin’ to ontieme?” squealed the 
man, as the four started down the bank with the 
horses. 

“You don’t suppose I’d go off an’ leave a good 


The End of the Trail 


377 


rope where you could get your claws on it, do you? 
Wait ’til we get these horses onto the flat-boat, and 
all the guns around here collected so you can’t peck 
at us from the brush, an’ I’ll be back. ” 

“You gon’ on to Timbaire City,” said Bat, an’ 
I’m com’ long bye-m-bye. A’m tak’ dis hoss an' 
ride back an’ git ma saddle an’ bridle.” He ad¬ 
vanced and removed his hat: “ Adieu, ma'mselle , 
mebbe-so I ain’ git dere ’til you gon’. 01 ’ Bat, 
he lak’ you fine. You need de help, som’tam’, 
you mak’ de write to ol’ Bat an’, ba Goss, A’m 
com’ lak’ hell—you bet you dam’ life!” Tears 
blinded the girl’s eyes as she held out her hand, and 
as a cavalier of old France, the half-breed bent and 
brushed it with his lips. He shook the hand of 
Endicott: “Som’tam’ mebbe-so you com’ back, we 
tak’ de hont. Me—A’m know where de elk an’ 
de bear liv’ plenty.” Endicott detected a twinkle 
in his eye as he turned to ascend the bank: “You 
mak’ Tex ke’p de strong lookout for de posse. 
A’m no lak’ I seen you git hang.” 

11 B eat it! You old reprobate! ’ ’ called the Texan 
as he followed him up the slope. 

“How’m I goin’ to git my boat back?” whined 
Long Bill, as the Texan coiled his rope. 

“Swim acrost. Or, maybe you’d better go 


378 


The Texan 


’round—it’s some little further that way, but it’s 
safer if you can’t swim. I’ll leave your guns in the 
boat. So long, an’ be sure to remember not to fur- 
get sometime an’ pay me back that twenty.” 

The ride to Timber City was made almost in 
silence. Only once did the Texan speak. It was 
when they passed a band of sheep grazing beside 
the road: “They’re ruinin’ the country,” he said, 
thoughtfully. “The time ain’t far off when we’ll 
have to turn nester—or move on. ” 

“Where?” asked Alice. 

The cowboy shrugged, and the girl detected a 
note of unconscious sadness in his tone: “I don’t 
know. I reckon there ain’t any place for me. 
The whole country’s about wired in. ” 

Timber City, since abandoned to the bats and 
the coyotes, but then in her glory, consisted of 
two stores, five saloons, a half-dozen less reputable 
places of entertainment,a steepleless board church, 
a schoolhouse, also of boards, a hotel, a post office, 
a feed stable, fifty or more board shacks of miners, 
and a few flimsy buildings at the mouths of shafts. 
It was nearly noon when the three drew up before 
the hotel. 

“Will you dine with us in an hour?” asked 
Endicott. 


The End of the Trail 


379 


The Texan nodded. “Thanks,” he said, for¬ 
mally, “I’ll be here.” And as the two dis¬ 
appeared through the door, he gathered up the 
reins, crossed to the feed barn where he turned 
the animals over to the proprietor, and passing 
on to the rear, proceeded to take a bath in the 
watering trough. 

Punctually on the minute he entered the hotel. 
The meal was a solemn affair, almost as silent 
as the ride from the river. Several attempts at 
conversation fell flat, and the effort was aban¬ 
doned. At no time, however, did the Texan 
appear embarrassed, and Alice noted that he 
handled his knife and fork with the ease of early 
training. 

At the conclusion he arose, abruptly: “I thank 
you. Will you excuse me, now?” 

Alice nodded, and both watched as he crossed the 
room, his spurs trailing noisily upon the wooden 
floor. 

“Poor devil,” said Endicott, “this has hit him 
pretty hard. ” 

The girl swallowed the rising lump in her throat: 
“Oh, why can’t he meet some nice girl, and-” 

“Women—his kind—are mighty scarce out 
here, I imagine.” 


380 


The Texan 


The girl placed her elbows upon the table, rested 
her chin upon her knuckles, and glanced eagerly 
into Endicott’s face: 

“Win, you’ve just got to buy a ranch,” she an¬ 
nounced, the words fairly tumbling over each other 
in her excitement. “Then we can come out here 
part of the time and live, and we can invite a lot 
of girls out for the summer—I just know oodles 
of nice girls—and Tex can manage the ranch, 
and-” 

“Match-making already!” laughed Endicott. 
“Why buy a ranch? Why not move into Wolf 
Pdver, or Timber City, and start a regular matri¬ 
monial agency—satisfaction guaranteed, or your 
money back. It would be more prac-” 

“Winthrop Adams Endicott!” 

“Oh, I forgot! I’m not practical. I’m roman¬ 
tic, and red-blooded, and—” they had the little 
dining-room to themselves; he rose swiftly from his 
chair and, crossing to her side, stooped and kissed 
her, not once, but twice, and thrice,—■“ I’m glad 
of it!” And that reminds me, I have a couple of 
errands to attend to, so you will have to manage 
to worry along without me for fifteen minutes or 
so.” 

She laughed up into his face: “How can I ever 




The End of the Trail 381 

stand it? I’ve worried along without you all my 
life. I guess I’ll survive.” 

“You won’t have to much longer,” he smiled, 
and hastened from the room. A half-hour later 
he returned to find her waiting in the hotel “par¬ 
lour.” She saw that his eyes were shining as he 
crossed eagerly, seated himself upon the haircloth 
sofa beside her, and whispered in her ear. 

“Winthrop! Indeed we won’t do anything of 
the kind! Why it’s—it’s-” 

“ It’s impractical, and it’s romantic, ” he finished 
for her. “Also, it’s unconventional. Now, re¬ 
fuse if you dare! The stage leaves for Lewis¬ 
ton and the railroad at five. He seems to be 
a regular chap—the parson. Both he and his 
wife insisted that the event take place in their 
house. Said it would be much pleasanter than 
the hotel—and I heartily agreed with them. We 
figured that 'half-past four would give us just 
about time.” 

“Well, of all things!” blushed the girl. “You 
two arranged the whole affair, and of course, as 
I’m only the bride, it wasn’t necessary to consult 
me at all!” 

“Exactly,” smiled Endicott; “I’m red-blooded, 
you know, and romantic—and when I go in for 


382 


The Texan 


little things like unconventionality, and romance, 
I go the limit. And you don’t dare refuse!” 

She looked up into his eyes, shining with boyish 
enthusiasm: “I don’t dare,” she whispered. 
“I don’t want to dare. Oh, Win, I—I’m just 
crazy about it!” 

A few moments later she drew away from him 
and smoothed her hair. 

“You must go right this minute and find Tex. 
And, oh, I hope Bat will be here in time! I just 
love old Bat!” She ceased speaking and looked 
questioningly into his eyes which had suddenly 
become grave. 

“ I have been looking for Tex, and I couldn’t find 
him anywhere. Then I went to the stable across 
the street. His horse is gone.” 

For some moments both were silent. “He 
never even said good-bye,” faltered the girl, and 
in her voice was a note of real hurt. 

“No,” answered Endicott, - softly, “he should 
have said good-bye.” 

Alice rose and put on her hat: “Come on, let’s 
get out of this hateful stuffy little room. Let’s 
walk and enjoy this wonderful air while we can. 
And besides, we must find some flowers—wild 
flowers they must be for our wedding,mustn’t they. 


The End of the Trail 


383 


dear? Wild flowers, right from God’s own gar¬ 
dens—wild, and free, and uncultivated—untouched 
by human hands. I saw some lovely ones, blue 
and white, and some wild-cherry blossoms, too, 
down beside that little creek that crosses the trail 
almost at the edge of the town.” Together they 
walked to the creek that burbled over its rocky 
bed in the shadow of the bull-pine forest from 
which Timber City derived its name. Deeper and 
deeper into the pines they went, stopping here 
and there to gather the tiny white and blue blos¬ 
soms, or to break the bloom-laden twigs from 
the low cherry bushes. As they rounded a huge 
upstanding rock, both paused and involuntarily 
drew back. There, in the centre of a tiny glade 
that gave a wide view of the vast sweep of the 
plains, with their background of distant moun¬ 
tains, stood the Texan, one arm thrown across 
the neck of his horse, and his cheek resting close 
against the animal’s glossy neck. For a moment 
they watched as he stood with his eyes fixed on 
the far horizon. 

“Go back a little way,” whispered Endicott. 
“ I want to speak with him. ” The girl obeyed, and 
he stepped boldly into the open. 

“Tex!” 


384 


The Texan 


The man whirled. “What you doin’ here? ” his 
face flushed red, then, with an effort, he smiled, as 
his eyes rested upon the blossoms. “Pickin' 
posies?" 

“Yes," answered Endicott, striving to speak 
lightly, “for a very special occasion. We are to 
be married at half-past four, and we want you 
to be there—just you, and Bat, and the parson. 
I hunted the town for you and when I found your 
horse gone I—we thought you had ridden away 
without even saying good-bye." 

“No," answered the cowboy slowly, “I didn't 
do that. I was goin' back—just for a minute— 
at stage time. But, it's better this way. In 
rooms—like at dinner, I ain't at home, any more. 
It's better out here in the open. I won’t go to your 
weddin’. Damn it, man, I can't! I'm more than 
half-savage, I reckon. By the savage half of me, 
I ought to kill you. I ought to hate you—but I 
can’t. About a lot of things you’re green as hell. 
You can’t shoot, nor ride, nor rope, nor do hardly 
any other damn thing a man ought to do. But, 
at that, you whirl a bigger loop than I do. You've 
got the nerve, an' the head, an' the heart. You're 
a man. The girl loves you. An' I love her. My 
God, man! More than all the world, I love the 


The End of the Trail 


385 


woman who is to be your wife—an’ I have no right 
to! I tell you I’m half-savage! Take her, an’ 
go! Go fast, an’ go a long time! I never want to 
hear of you again. But—I can still say—good 
luck!” he extended his hand and Endicott seized 
it. 

“I shall be sorry to think that we are never to 
meet again, ” he said simply. 

The shadow of a smile flickered on the Texan’s 
lips: “After a while, maybe—but not soon. I’ve 
got to lick a savage, first—and they die hard.” 

Endicott turned to go, when the other called 
to him: “ Oh, Win! ” He turned. “ Is she here— 
anywhere around ? I must tell her good-bye. ’ ’ 

“Yes, she is down the creek a way. I’ll send 
her to you.” 

The Texan advanced to meet her, Stetson in 
hand: “Good-bye,” he said, “an’ good luck. 
I can 1 give you no regular weddin’ present— 
there’s nothin’ in the town that’s fit. But, I’ll give 
you this—I’ll give you your man clean-handed. 
He ain’t wanted. There’s no one wants him— 
but you. He didn’t kill Purdy that night. It’s 
too bad he didn’t—but he didn’t. We all thought 
he did, but he only creased him. He came to, 
after we’d pulled out. I heard it from the puncher 


25 


3 86 


The Texan 


I had the fight with in the coulee—an’ it’s straight 
goods. ” He paused abruptly, and the girl stared 
wide-eyed into his face. The wild flowers dropped 
from her hands, and she laid trembling fingers upon 
his arm. 

“What are you saying?” she cried, fiercely. 
“That Purdy is not dead? That Win didn’t kill 
him? That-” 

“No. Win didn’t kill him,” interrupted the 
Texan, with a smile. 

“Have you told Win?” 

“No. Weddin’ presents are for the bride. I 
saved it for you. ” 

Tears were streaming from the girl’s eyes: “It’s 
the most wonderful wedding present anybody ever 
had,” she sobbed. “I know Win did it for me, 
and if he had killed him it would have been justi¬ 
fiable—right. But, always, we would have had 
that thing to think of. It would have been like 
some hideous nightmare. We could have put it 
away, but it would have come again—always. I 
pretended I didn’t care. I wouldn’t let him see 
that it was worrying me, even more than it wor¬ 
ried him.” 

The cowboy stooped and recovered the flowers 
from the ground. As Alice took them from him, 


The End of the Trail 


387 


her hand met his: “Good-bye, ” she faltered, “and 
—may God bless you!” 

At the rock she turned and saw him still stand¬ 
ing, hat in hand, as she had left him. Then 
she passed around the rock, and down the creek, 
where her lover waited with his arms laden with 
blossoms. 


AN EPILOGUE 


At exactly half-past four the Texan galloped to 
the door of the Red Front Saloon, and swinging 
from his horse, entered. Some men were playing 
cards at a table in the rear, but he paid them no 
heed. Very deliberately he squared himself to 
the bar and placed his foot upon the brass rail: 
“Give me some red liquor,” he ordered. And 
when the bartender set out the bottle and the glass 
the cowboy poured it full and drank it at a gulp. 
He poured out another, and then a third, and 
a fourth. The bartender eyed him narrowly: 
“Ain’t you goin’ it a little strong, pardner?” he 
asked. The Texan stared at him as if he had not 
heard, and answered nothing. A smile bent the 
white aproned one’s lips as he glanced into his 
customer’s eyes still black from the blow Curt had 
dealt him in the coulee. 

“Them lamps of youm was turned up too high, 
wasn’t they?” he asked. 

The cowboy nodded, thoughtfully: “Yes, that’s 
388 


An Epilogue 389 

it. They was turned up too high—a damn sight 
too high for me, I reckon.” 

“Git bucked off?” 

The blackened eyes narrowed ever so slightly: 
“No. A guard done that.” 

“A guard?” 

“Yes, a guard.” The Texan poured out his 
fifth drink. “ In the pen, it was.’ ’ 

“ In the pen! ” The bartender was itching with 
curiosity. “You don’t look like a jail-bird. They 
musta got the wrong guy?” he suggested. 

“No. I killed him, all right. I shot his ears off 
first, an’ then plugged him between the eyes before 
he could draw. It was fun. I can shoot straight 
as hell—an’ quick! See that mouse over by the 
wall ? ’ ’ Before the words v/ere out of his mouth his 
Colt roared. The bartender stared wide-eyed at 
the ragged bit of fur and blood that was plastered 
against the base-board where a moment before a 
small mouse had been nibbling a bit of cheese. 
The men at the card table paused, looked up, and 
resumed their game. 

“Man, that’s shootin’!” he exclaimed. “Have 
one on me! This geezer that you bumped off— 
self defence, I s’pose?” 

“No. He was a bar-keep over on the Marias. 


390 


The Texan 


He made the mistake of takin’ ondue notice of 
a pair of black eyes I’d got—somehow they looked 
mirthful to him, an’—” The Texan paused and 
gazed reproachfully toward a flick of a white apron 
as the loquacious one disappeared through the 
back door. 

A loud shouting and a rattling of wheels sounded 
from without. The card game broke up, and the 
players slouched out the door. Through the win¬ 
dow the Texan watched the stage pull up at the 
hotel, watched the express box swung off, and the 
barn-dogs change the horses; saw the exchange of 
pouches at the post office; saw the stage pull out 
slowly and stop before a little white cottage next 
door to the steepleless church. Then he reached 
for the bottle, poured another drink, and drank 
it very slowly. Through the open door came the 
far-away rattle of wheels. He tossed some money 
onto the bar, walked to the door, and stood gazing 
down the trail toward the cloud of grey dust that 
grew dimmer and dimmer in the distance. At last, 
it disappeared altogether, and only the trail re¬ 
mained, winding like a great grey serpent toward 
the distant black buttes of the Judith Range. 
He started to re-enter the saloon, paused with his 
foot on the threshold and stared down the empty 


An Epilogue 


39i 


trail, then facing abruptly about he swung into 
the saddle, turned his horse’s head northward, and 
rode slowly out of town. At the little creek he 
paused and stared into the piney woods. A tiny 
white flower lay, where it had been dropped in the 
trail, at the feet of his horse, and he swung low and 
recovered it. For a long time he sat holding the 
little blossom in his hand. Gently he drew it 
across his cheek. He remembered—and the mem¬ 
ory hurt—that the last time he had reached from 
the saddle had been to snatch her handkerchief 
from the ground, and he had been just the fraction 
of a second too late. 

“My luck’s runnin’ mighty low,” he muttered 
softly, and threw back his shoulders, as his teeth 
gritted hard, “but I’m still in the game, an’ 
maybe this will change it.” Very carefully, very 
tenderly, he placed the blossom beneath the band 
inside his hat. “I must go an’ hunt for Bat, the 
old renegade! If anything’s happened to him—if 
that damned Long Bill has laid for him—I will 
kill a man, sure enough.” He gathered up his 
reins and rode on up the trail, and as he rode the 
shadows lengthened. Only once he paused and 
looked backward at the little ugly white town. 
Before him the trail dipped into a wide valley and 


392 


The Texan 


he rode on. And, as the feet of his horse thudded 
softly in the grey dust of the trail, the sound 
blended with the low, wailing chant of the mourn¬ 
ful dirge of the plains: 

“O bury me not on the lone prairie 
Where the wild coyotes will howl o’er me, 

Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free, 
O bury me not on the lone prairie. ” 


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